Virgin, Child and Taxi, New York City

R. Nemo Hill



Dice lie on the floor.
Once they sped, rolling
when we had our hijinks up

like legs in a chorus line.
A fine time: Charley
strode over and smacked

our cheeks at our luck.
What winners! That’s how
we wished our obituaries:

fresh on a streak, chips
at the ready. Knock ’em
right flush at the bank

of the table, true ivory
dotted on each face.
You’re my good luck charm

and I ain’t harmin’ nobody,
our motto of the evening.
Did it come down to that,

to mere belief? Amaretto
answered for us. And so
I flicked the dice. I knew

the felt would drag, the kick
would flip the pips
we wanted to see. No one

wants to be the loser. I wanted
to tell you: it didn’t matter.
Dimples swam up like runes.