Zero Attitude

By Paul Handley

I parse the hologram cards, cut face up,

that gleam on Jack’s boutonniere, reflects off mirrored Ray Bans,

eclipsed by glyph quotes, emblazoned on the underside of Larry’s visor,

that has encircling stars spackled out a glossy white.

Outside the moon negotiates its fixture with the mutant sand crabs outside,

where a shutter shot of a too perfect, rising, simulacrum sun,

offers a glimpse of the apocalyptic slick runoff.

The dealer smiles, the caps of his teeth revealing decadent third and fourth eyes.

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