The Player Poem by jackilton peachum

No man who has been at the tables more than an hour
believes in anything but luck: the game will have you finally.
We're all waiting for the last card, one that reveals all mystery—
but a malign spirit sits over the table tonight-leers at us—
the cards are not our friends-strangers all-
Cruel King, promiscuous Queen, wily Jack and ten of pimps—
whatever motives may filter through the undergarment
covering the rules of the game—odds are not in your favor.
Surrender over your winnings and you will lose forever.