Pachinko parlor frequented by Dad
Forever with a twelve-pack in his arms
Shall swindle jenny from this sorry lad
Who's yet to learn of gambling's many harms.
The slot machines his mother favors more
Is yet another swallower of cash.
He prays for fortune till his throat is sore,
But sevens only grace him in a flash.
His usual cons prove fruitless as the rest
Of money-making schemes to save his friend
Whose death is imminent, unlike those blessed
With silver spoons to keep at bay the end.
The pockets of his shorts are empty, save
For flowers that he plucks for Pietro's grave.