The dealer deftly spreads her cards out wide
and flicks them into a pile. Is that an ace I see?
She deals the cards. May luck be on your side.
The man in the trench coat squints, cross-eyed,
and slides a chip into the center. Raise by twenty.
The dealer smoothly spreads three cards out wide.
Flop, she states. His hazel irises are liquified
greed, but he raps his knuckles reluctantly.
She shuffles and discards. May luck be on your side.
The fourth card. He frowns, but his pride
forces itself down his throat. Fifty: a last-ditch plea.
The dealer teasingly spins the cards into a cascade.
River. He leans in, his grin unapologetically undignified,
I’m all in. Her lifted eyebrows are of silver filigree.
She runs her fingers over the cards. May luck be on your side.
He flips his hand: Straight flush. Her lips: a vicious tide.
He stacks his chips into a tower, the foundation shaky—
the dealer deftly spreads the cards out wide—
she deals the cards. May luck be on our side.