Why I Dislike Gambling

There were only two 'shops' near the works canteen
where my father worked, a black cathedral of industry
with thin saintless windows and a sooty brick exterior,
called Marshalls. The first shop was directly opposite
the site. A shed on derelict ground, it was where porn
was sold, 'rag mags' as they were charmingly called
by whoever who bought them. The place was so grubby,
and it's exterior was such a disincentive to purchase smut therein
that it would have gladened the heart of any hardened puritan.
I passed it often, en route to town. I can picture it still,
I'd swear I never saw anyone enter to make a purchase.
The second 'shop' was at the lighter end of the same street
a bit further from the shadow of the factory.
It was a betting shop. I saw customers enter and leave there.
It was a place for men with money to lose,
for workers unconcerned for their families. I never went in.
I was neither a worker nor family man,
I was merely concerned-for which read 'depressed'.
Many women knew their husbands lost unknown sums of money there
and cheerlessly said nothing. My mother was one of them.
Nowadays I read and hear about syndicates who fix
cricket and football matches, and I understand why I dislike it.
When the money spent on betting on a sport outstrips
by many times what the sport spends on nurturing the young players,
it's future stock, then corruption, cruelty and voyeurism are inevitable,
and anything that can be secretly bought will be. Except Virtue.