Dentist, Gambler, Gunfighter

[elegy]

You are a mythological figure from the Old West,
forever coughing up whiskey and dealing Faro,
with one hand resting
on a double barrel under the table.

The hands that once were so quick
with teeth on 56 Elm Street,
are now folded primly against your chest,
where you lay in an uncertain grave.

Where would you have lived
in this day and time?
Las Vegas could not contain you;
two guns blazing, tie and diamond stickpin always in place.

On Friday nights, I like to think
that I, too, can gamble and win.
Whenever I pull a large pile of chips
across the felt, I think of you.

You died alone, feverish and sallow in sockfeet.
No Wyatt Earp or Big Nose Kate at your side,
no longer anyone’s huckleberry:
“Well I’ll be damned. This is funny.”