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Blackjack
March 3, 2015
The table was surrounded by 60 year old men,
smoke revolving in the ominous barn.
Beer bottles contorted
pale white whiskery faces.
The deck was cut
and dealt, cards slicing through the air.
The 52 riflers
had no jokers about.
Chips were chucked wildly
betting on whose hand was best.
Just 21
Blackjack was beat.
The players took turns
dealing the misfortune.
No surrendering allowed,
one man murdered them all.
Throwing on their straw hats,
the game was over.
But Black Jack
was no more.
© Tracy A., Scarsdale, NY
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