Four identical wooden chairs
around a matching square table.
The flowers on thewall
are choked by
the scent of smoke
floating in the empty space.
Aperfect specimen
sits across from me.
Older versions of himself
areplaced on either side.
Old men haunted by
years of drinking
evident inround guts,
and lovely complexions
ruined by wrinkles.
Cards aretossed.
We set them again.
Old man shouldn't count
his two ofspades.
Laughs and tears
thrown carelessly into the pot.
The stakes arehigh,
and there are no winners.
Across the table
I read hiseyes.
Throw hearts
they plead.
I do.
That book is ours.
He rakes,I deal.
Beating faded stars
we follow blindly to our destiny.
Defeatedsoldiers
play spades
as if it's their last hope
for victory.
Yetstill we win.
Tonight we still win.