A Hidden Trump up the Gambler's Wrist: a Poem
There is this legend of Old Mississippi
just as true as all legends may sound
about this gambler called ugly and creepy
who just kept losing round after round.
In saloon, stinky of gamblers' sweating
and gun-smoke from last cheater's death,
eyes drilling eyes, feet nervously fretting,
in the silence of everyone holding their breath.
So one more time he waits for his chance
to use that trump hidden up his wrist,
but then he has to drop all those plans
after learning that in poker trumps don't exist.
With everyone bluffing and pretending the same
at that table of greed and heartless deceit
and yet no place for trumps in the wrong game
no chance for him in his own way to cheat.
The legend has it that he learned the game
used that hidden trump as an extra ace,
played it like everyone without any shame
winning some, losing some, but always with grace.
Was that hidden ace still at play,
with all those gamblers, thugs and thieves,
it shouldn't be up to me to say
but he always played it with rolled-down sleeves.