At once a queen was laid atop a king,
Placed so far down the sheets would crawl,
And interrupted he, playing away;
So speak his friend, “when do you finish?”
Thence a jack was laid, beneath his queen;
“Not yet; still there’s more to come.”
And bruised are the moonlike cheeks
Of sported queen. A horny jack, plucked from ace,
And steal a courtier’s eye till all he fades.
Two. Three. Four. As easy five can be,
Ere placed are those in descending figures,
Then calls louder, a friend and foe kept watch,
By door they gathered, by light they hindered;
Now cruel was the lamp beside their guest’s debris
In whose cards adorned. Their king and queen await.
But, P. was no man in interest of free and slaving bits,
Nor could breathe a breath to light the fire,
Nor cheat a jack with cheated queen.
Nor ace the pile till stack compile.
Now breathed from none to pile till one till done,
Who knew then? His friends still watched afar,
The moves. The thoughts. Every move beckons which.
Though slightly disoriented by gaze of card and friend,
He knew not who were truer to worth of his,
That bet he shone, that gold be had. Glory he called.
But then he sunk his teeth in dry-chapped lips,
His arse swollen by excess seating in lonely chair,
Now cheeks command a silent break from silent play,
But would he then? If not so wise, he ought.
Meanwhile the game was finished, and turned was he
He would say, “Look! I’m done!”, but no free is this,
More he wanted, but less he wanted. But more is now.
Yet continues to play till all friends now a pile,
This much they’d bleed from boredom and excess,
Now shat their curses and disdain: off they went.
Leaving only P. alone with cards for glory.
Leaving in the dark was P. for king and queen,
So soon he found no card to place.
No card to move.
And so he sat there, in thought. Alone.
Now casts aside those faulty cards,
But could not rejoin his friends alight.
Having lost both friend and card,
He resigns to drink till sleep is nigh.

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Life, Poetry, Works
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