The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Turning

So spins the wheel
Everyone a winner
landing where no one sees
though when is well anticipated
clatter slowly hushes to wide eyes
baby boy blues wishing for a prize
crestfallen by the tricket's size

But wait the kind man says as he 
bumps the turn to a smaller number
and hands over a silver glider
so he may sail the innocence of dreamwinds
and smile in simple delight to escape
his cribbed walls to an unknown adventure
across abandoned lots into a beetled forest.
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