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[ Personal Narratives ]

Wednesday 7th October: All In

The table

Hexagonal in its facetism

Like a spinning wheel

Stop point dedicated

To a purpose unknown but finite.


The players

Still dealing, wheeling.

Wiling, bluffing, smiling

Grimacing.

Unsure but certain

That the next will be better.


The cards

Face down, anonymous.

Shuffled.

Are you sure?

Random acts of power and subservience,

ordered by chance of pattern.


Smiles embraced by knuckles.


My hand

In my hands

Glows, and grows.

Conceited in its knowledge

Of my knowledge and appreciation.


Fate winks, its eye contact broken,

Previously boring,

Glinting a hint at an ending.


The promise of the payoff.


The fix fixed.


Hands up? A smirk.

No, hands down

Proud, splaying, wanton in

Anticipation, reclining

In the praise that must now seep

Down.


Like treacle through fingers.


Read them and weep.


The scroll unfurls, the commandments

Clench.

The seductress scurries

Aged and warted by the glare –

The attention.


An osmosis of dryness.

A departure of faith.

The odds rotten,

No longer delicious.


Bitter.


The obstinence of loss

Of something never quite completed.

More poignant in its potency – its potential perfection

Spurned, sullied, now sodden

With ingratitude and arrogance.


The table

Hexagonal in its facetism

Like a spinning wheel.


A carousel of apologies.


Smiling in its clairvoyance

Promise in its complicity.

Invites me back.