A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

Mesmerised. 
You’re an arcade game 
upbeat music, pretty lights,
and those little trills 
rewarding me 
for good aim.
Pavlovian conditioning. 
The prizes are small
but I keep believing:
the jackpot grows 
and it could be mine. 
A priceless grand prize
so I go all in
with my life savings
sure that the sheer persistence
of my efforts 
will overcome the odds
and I’ll take home my dream. 
I wish I’d learned,
but I’m down to my last dollar,
and it’s closing time. 
Perhaps I should cut my losses - 
surely that dollar could be better spent
or reinvested. 
And it’s not like I really believe 
in my chances anymore.
I’m so certain I’ll lose,
and yet that prize beckons to me
and blows softly on the embered remnants of hope
within my heart.
Am I a fool?  Is it greed?
Essentially destitute, I may as well
drop that last coin
and lose it all.