The Loser's Game

The Loser’s Game

Allison Andrews

I don’t come here often,

It’s capricious and mean.

People playing the big game,

where the returns are too lean.

I’m sitting at this strange table,

The next hand has yet to be dealt.

This is a gamble I hate,

I think I remember how this felt.

I don’t like this place without light and nothing real.

But I’m forced to play, it’s part of the deal.

It hurts and stings, anticipation of the inevitable loss

Someone say it! This a heresy and a farce!

Ok, CONCENTRATE...

The Queen of Hearts would be nice to hold,

To have in my hand a card that is so bold.

But I know she can fail, she already has.

The King of Spades took her place,

cleared the table and always wants her replaced.

This spot is so gruesome, dividing my life into parts.

The one sure bet is that the returns will be sparse,

devoid of real value;

but potent enough to break hearts.

I don’t truly think this IS a game.

The results are too often same,

and the cards very interestingly NEVER change.

The hand dealt was long ago arranged and set to maim.

And far worse than this game,

is my lot to remain still,

paralyzed and lobotomized, devoid of free will.

Here I remain, silent and looking "off."

The mistake is mine. I stayed too long.

Now I must hope for the line up,

You know, a straight flush!

or maybe......

MADNESS!

Is there even ONE who will stand back?

Is there a friend who will say "no",

Or on my own do I decide to go?

I wonder in haste, "should I tap out?"

The answer to this I will perpetually live without.

And so the decision is made, uneducated and risky.

It comes down to dire necessity.

I will hand him my cards, say goodbye to the crowd... to the man...to the game,

no more of the damn same.