Every grudge a chip
Every lie a bid
Call, raise, fold
What’s in your hand, fish?

All our monsters converge
On the millennium table
Sleuth out their tells if you can
How smooth the sharks sound
Dismembering hope
With the casual coins of despair

Playing up a pair of disgust
To fake out three of prejudice
Trumped by straight contempt
Which folds before the flush of rage
Until a full cruelty sweeps the table.

What’s your stake
In this pot of spite?
Are you all in
Or bluffing?

What will you do
With your winnings?

Will you ever have the
strength
to fold?


© 2006 Melissa Cross.  All rights reserved.  No part of this piece may be reproduced without the express permission of the author.