Fremont Street Nevada, a poem by Glynn Sinclare at

Fremont Street Nevada

Fremont Street Nevada

written by: Glynn Sinclare



I walked Fremont Street, three days
while the world passed me by.
A constant barrage,
Loud music and Casino lights.

My room an escape, for a quiet moment.
Men with lost limbs in wheelchairs.
Showing the cost of war.
Service men in need.

Somewhere to hang out
A little wit peeps through
“My wife ran away with my best friend,
she took everything”. The hand extended.

Demented souls talking to themselves,
Jerky hands movement, imaginary friends
Full moon madness
loudly, marching on Fremont Street

Young pretty girls in their nakedness
Empress’s new suit of clothes
willing to take a photo for a dollar.
A life chosen from need or necessity.

An aged skinny lady still dancing
through the years.
bare bottom and two stars to cover her Breasts.
A large fleshy lady, rolls peeping out, dancing.

The population desensitised to their nakedness
Punters play the slots in smoke filled Casinos.
While Tourists enjoy the shows and sights.
There is no voyeurism here
Freely, freely, freely given.

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