part 2 : the hand you’re dealt
The cards I held from a pristine deck,
you knowingly dealt, that warm spring day,
as I sat poker faced with no aces to play.
I was left with knaves and jokers
and ones with low numbers,
as you conjured from your sleeve, as conjurers do,
a diamond ace; as sharp and as cutting as the smile on his face.
He was smug and wealthy
and able to trump anything i played.
With no hand to show,
he clubbed me in spades and punctured my heart.
Tell me. Why is the heart the last to know?
From Water’s Edge by Dave Young and Juliet Adele – to leave posts and comments go to http://www.daveyoungpoet.wordpress.com/water’s edge