Card Game

Do me a favor and have the guts To show your face Lay your heart upon the table Not hidden up your sleeve Waiting for the chance to Cheat The hands you’ve not been dealt. The fan that blocks the beating of your lashes The made-up beauty of your seemly look Is but a temporary obstruction The dissembling of a mean intention Is not so easy to mistake. In the backrooms of your mind An upstairs bed awaiting The dash of the stranger Boots to the floor May succumb to the whim of indifference. But the holster laid upon the nightstand Carries the bullets of love’s lost cause. (Previously published in The Underbeat Journal, July 2003)