Its like its all some game
that God and Satan play
with me as third hand
on this strange board.
Where the holes lead
up or down marking
the fate of my soul
as we play each hand.
I peg again on a nineteen hand, desperate to make something of nothing
and in the end still wind up facing the corner called skunk counting last.
What if each hand really counted
mattered to my tattered soul's state
does God score you down for muggin's
or just forgive you for making the try?
What are in those five cards dealt
and who do I play against each time?
Yet it matters not as I grab them up
and try to make somehting of them.
Do we play on a simple double lap board, with each game mattering for all
or is this another in a series match on the Scoremaster of a caring Diety?
Two fours, a six, a Jack and a seven
what to throw to God's crib?
Or did the dark one deal this hand
I have lost track of things again.
No matter what I choose to do
somehow it will go wrong on the cut
and while there is four free to take
should I toss the seven and gamble?
Choices are made, cards set aside, and then the peg war begins
to decide the fate of my eternal soul, or at least the way the day will go.
With the cut, it all plays out
five of hearts makes a show
and gives me hope it not in vain
as I play the seven, six and fours.
Gambler's luck, touch of fate
I turned a small hand to enough
to round that corner as I counted
fifteen six, and ten for the double run.
Not this game boys, you still have yet to skunk me this decade
as I play with a vengeance to show you both, I am still myself.
-D. A. Neely 12/23/2010
I relate to this poem in a special way as my Dad was a crib back in the 60's. I like the way you use language, and the way you build the tension.
ReplyDelete