Dealer's Choice

The cards slide forward to your trembling hands:

The last deal, the final odds, your chance to rewrite misfortune.

The dealer sees a faint shimmer on your forehead,

And politely winks as he looks down at his lot.

You see the slightest shift in his eyes, a tell?

You can’t tell the difference anymore.

He looks at the old man to your right,

A remnant of the resurgent patriarchy.

It’s. Not. Over...

The man has a large stack and a larger grin.

His hands feel the cards, and he winks at you too.

Shifting his stack forward, he bets hard, nothing to lose.

The dealer glances down at you, patiently judging your move.

The man to your left taps his fingers impatiently on the table,

Waiting for another woman to move at his God-damn pace.

Your heart beats faster as it sinks into sand.

The last deal, the final odds, your chance to rewrite misfortune.

It’s. Not. Over...

Your eyes snap back to clarity, your hands regain stillness.

Life creator, story-teller, compassionate counselor.

The men at the table fade to a translucent white.

Shrinking in their chairs until they are tiny, boyish spirits.

A wry smile captures the dealer’s face, and his hands tremble.

You can tell this is your time to play.

Small, powerful stack moves forward, and you with it.

The dealer quickly flips, and you knowingly wink.

It’s. Not. Over.