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You Gotta Dance With the Hand That's Dealt You |
It’s surprising really, how
well he can deal
with his claws and xyster.
When the devil shuffles
you never see
the sleight of hand, the card
from the bottom
of nowhere, the card that
blows open your
inside straight. You never
see him smile, either,
not when he takes your child,
your business, your wife.
His poker face
is really a fine piece of work,
like Amway and
Childhood Disease.
Yes, the devil is at his best
playing cards,
smoking a ragged cheroot,
always dealing,
always winning. It was all I
could do to sit in.
I was terrified. Old Harry fixed
me with a jeweled eye.
“Fresh meat,” he said to no one
in particular.
And when he dealt me five aces
I sat perfectly still.
Was there another cheat to come?
Was it a cosmic miscalculation
in my favor? After a moment,
I relaxed and leaned back in my
chair like a gunslinger.
Old Harry paused for a minute
before taking two.
A drop of blood formed on his
beetle-brow.
His devil-may-care attitude
was gone.
The game moved forward,
a sluggish storm.
I began to fan my cards out,
a man on the edge,
one of the finally undamned, a
winner in Perdition.
There was gonna be hell to pay.
I started to smile, slowly, like
the breaking of an egg.
copyright 2004
Corey
Mesler |
