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Friday, February 8, 2008

river

It must be very easy for you

to always play to the river,

to just brush it all aside,

at the final moment.

Like running a hand through your thick, dark hair

before another chip is thrown.

Do you see me as I see me?

An equal player, deserving of my buy in?

I can match you, I won't fold.

I hardly proceed with trepidation.

So then, how is it so easy?

Is it the game you like to play?

Is it in the cards you draw

from your magicians wrist?

That flick of the wrist

so quick

so slight

and you're gone, poof.

And I'm left applying glue

to your house of cards.

Why does it get prolonged so?

We should have folded

and backed away from the table

but we get so involved, it becomes a disgusting display

and we always play

to the river.

2 comments:

BudRoy said...

Nice. A lot of good poetry comes from negative feelings, and I know from your MySpace blog you've had plenty of those. You just have to find inspiration in everything.

Jill said...

Thank you.

Sometimes writing it out like that becomes necessary for me. I can't really explain it.