John Davis, Diamond Cherry Balls

The laid-off lumberman goes for the Keno girl
knotting maraschino cherries
with her tongue. As the brown landscapes
widen in her eyes, he walks

deliberately to her counter,
listens to her stories of Jackpot Fever.
He doesn’t trust computers,
foreign cars, earrings in men, bleu cheese.

Spinning Cherries and Diamond Cherry Bells slot machines
ring behind the bingo bar.
The lumberman raises the machine fitter’s bet,
bluffs behind the puffs of his cigarette.
Who can still a life of poker chips?

In another state, his first love, a ‘63 Corvette,
rests in the barn of his first mother-in-law
on creosote railroad ties.
How he shifted between the bucket seats
and leftover lavender perfume.

When the ticker clicks to a winning stop,
watch him resist the pistachio lips
of the young lovely,
and then watch her lips.
God, be kind.

John Davis lives on Bainbridge Island, Washington. A high school teacher, he enjoys the midnight arias of his young daughter. His poetry appears in Beloit Poetry Journal, The Laurel Review, Passages North and The Seattle Review. He formerly edited The Duckabush Journal.

John Davis, Diamond Cherry Bells

Spring 2002