You begin to consider
your differences as you gaze
into the surface of a shallow pool
masking any sudden flash
of the eye
that will expose what might be
in your hand.
In the mirrored surface,
your 89 meets the eyes
of a 68 who only wants
to stand by you.
It’s a risk of ruin to stay.
There are 21 reasons
to walk away from the water.
There are 21 reasons
to get back into the car.
There were twenty-one stones
sewn into the hems of your cotton dress,
an attempt to make things even.
It’s not a balanced count.
You’ve already thrown
ten into the water.
Three words might have saved you
before the cards were even cut:
stop loss limit.
The cards are up-turned.
It’s just as it has been since
the opening hand:
It always ends in a push.
And before you can even
palm the next stone,
you hear,
“Hit me again.”
And though there are
only two of you at the table,
you’re not sure if the voice
wasn’t your own.
Paul W. Hankins (March 2015)