My mother and father and I had been lost in the casino 
in Reno for a long time now 
so had taken to riding an elevator 
between floors, between the neon stars 
of slot machines, of American loss

when we were joined by a man with a hole 
in his neck: an American, clearly, because 
he held a cane tenderly, and because his body 
resembled a set of golf clubs in a suit and because 
I was not afraid until he tilted his leather face at us

and unzipped his eyes; or until the dark nest 
in his neck began moving; or until his hands 
slid from his cuffs and held his own throat 
and a voice buzzed inside him. Then I was afraid

then our silence made a condemned building 
of us all. A tremor went through my father’s flying hat 
which he wore for he wished others to know 
we were here for the air show. 
We had been lost for a long time now

in the casino in Reno and there was not a one 
of us who might assist this throatless man 
for we were too busy taking the prize of him home: 
in America are humans who have dark matter 
inside them, who run on batteries, who speak

with the voice of Death’s personal computer. All down the years 
I heard my father shouting ‘I’ve never heard anything like it’; 
he was doing the voice, all down the years 
the voice of the elderly gentleman who also 
was lost in a casino in Reno.