she sat, frilly dressed, hair all curls ‘n bows,
face sculpted and ready for play.
first an Ace, then a King,
one card still remained,
could to turn her from rich to poor.
like the pumpkin whose orange grew wheels and a mane,…
so her fantasy was threatened…
by the stroke of midnight…
in the guise of one little card.
frozen at the thought of a loss, not a win,
could she hold to this lie in her hand?
or did that small drop of sweat,
that hung from her brow,
be the tell that betrayed her again.
she’d been up before, not too long ago,
and that damn drop of sweat was there too,
there was Bourbon and ‘ceegars’, and whisky and smoke
so she plunged down her neckline, real low.
all eyes (turned to gaze) at the sweet spot she shared
though she knew she didn’t have long.
with a flick of her head, that drop disappeared,
with an added breast jiggle for show,
she picked her last card, as she spun her last chip,
and they heaved as she said…
“going all in”!