It’s glass ‘n’ steel reared in desert,
It’s neon gas burning so brightly
Stars are extinguished, It’s standing
On the walkover by Harman
Watching the life blood of traffic
Flowing vitally vivid red
One way, diamond white the other.
It’s darkness, yet The Boulevard
Blares and glares, sidewalks are seething
As the hour strikes up novelties:
Spumes of crystallized water dance,
Monumental Olympians,
Sculptured in faux stone, creak and groan
Into brief life; a volcano erupts,
And the gawping mob interrupts
Its promenade. All done by five past.
Then the huge slug of a crowd heaves
Into motion, oozing along
The silver trail towards the next
Stun-their-eyes gewgaw. It’s clicks
At every intersection, flick-
Flicking business cards to attract
Attention. Their business? Pimping!
In soiled T shirts brazenly bearing
“GIRLS4YOU”, a dumb show performed
In a city that’s dumb enough
To believe if no one speaks out
There’s no soliciting. It’s not
Bread and circuses anymore,
But sex and illusion, tacit
Collusion with an unspoken
Conspiracy to defraud
The willing and gullible.
Gambling is certainty disguised
As chance, the slots and deals and dice
Unremitting devices for
Dipping of wallets and purses.
It’s rock ‘n’ roll and too many
Elvi – deceiver Las Vegas.
It’s burlesque and stripper bars, it’s
Song and dance and rat-pack still
Packing ‘em in. It’s hypnosis,
It’s psychosis, it’s not saying,
“Enough! Enough! I’ve had enough!”
The only fear here is ennui,
Guilt at being caught not enjoying
A moment: howl and yowl is case
There’s slight suspicion of boredom.
Laugh and the whirl laughs with you,
Cry and there’s the Samaritans
On your cell phone singing, “Only
The Lonely…” It’s dreams and nightmares,
It’s cashing your paycheck at six
And broke for a month by half past.
It’s baby-boom of Superman
Born beyond Good and Evil,
It’s paradise synthesised, where
People pick accessible fruit
From the Knowledge Tree’s lowest branch.
It’s an avenue of sky-rise,
Vertical lily ponds in which
This city is drowning through its
Own reflection. And it’s cola,
Cold beer, iced tea.
It’s half-yards of margaritas,
It’s basques and baggies, stilettos
And trainers. It’s never sleeping,
But closing eyes to waking up.
It’s a galaxy of lights making
Beyond city limits so much
Darker. It’s electric guitars,
Chords and discords. It’s pretence,
A real sense that nothing is real.
It’s the compass abolished, it’s
The Strip as the sole direction,
Strip-stripping away refusal.
It’s bought! It’s sold! It’s Las Vegas.
It’s vague! It’s vain! And it’s Vegas.
Dave Alton
