Games of Chance

I was playing solitaire. Fondling that ubiquitious deck. When she asked me to change the song. To something less vigilant. So many words to keep track of she said. Like they're writing a novel with my ear drums. I don't understand the words, but I know what they're saying. Too well.

I was emptying the ashtray when he tried to prove it wasn't just itch. He was so sure I was special. I almost believed him.

Like the corduroy that's always there between its thighs as the heart will strut. Always chaperoned by the sigh of movement. The water always comes out of the tap only tepid. We have to wait.

Wait. For it to get hot.

The balsam turmoil that builds these mansions. With the match sticks we've discarded.

I was playing expert. Satyr. Friend. Until the curtain came down. And I was the only one in front of it.

Still playing.

My game of solitaire.