The Poor Poet And The Deep Voice... Poem by Shaun Cronick

A poor poet strolls along a lonely beach.
Suddenly, he hears a deep voice.
DIG!
He looks around and nobody's there.
Am I having hallucinations, he thinks.
Then he hears the deep voice again.
I SAID DIG!
So the poor poet starts to dig in the sand,
With his bare hands and after a few inches,
He finds a small chest with a rusty lock.
The deep voice says,
OPEN!
Ok, the poet thinks and finds a rock.
He smashes the lock and the chest is now open.
He sees many, many golden coins.
The deep voice speaks again.
TO THE CASINO!
The poor poet arrives at the casino.
The deep voice utters,
ROULETTE!
The poor poet changes the gold into roulette chips,
And sits at one of its tables.
Where the players gaze at him and his huge pile of chips.
The deep voice says,
27!
The poor poet places all the chips on number 27.
The table nearly breaks.
Everybody is quiet as the croupier spins the wheel,
And releases the ball...
The ball lands and stays at 26.
The deep voice then says,
SHIT!