The rasp of the cards
Makes ol' Scratch flinch quick
as memory of past games rise.
He knows this is another
of those games coming now
at him with a vengeance
just by the mean glint
in my eyes' squinting corners.
Cards float across the table
and are picked up fast
by his red clawed hand
that trembel a small bit
as he thinks once more
"Why am I playing again?"
Then remembering where he was
when not across from me.
I won't embarass him much
other than to say this,
He missed his Nibs twice,
had three lousy nineteen hands
and I stole his crib
more times than he wished.
Not that it mattered any,
he still crossed skunk line.
So we sit now quiet
waiting for fresh coffee brewing
and wonder if he will
try again to cheat me
and suffer a terrible price
as I told him before:
"Deal off the bottom, Satan
and I start taking muggings."
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