By: Mylinh Nguyen
I
grew up bent over an old table
Every
Saturday night, we would gather
around.
To play a family game.
A
spin of the wheel, the roll of a dice.
Cards
hiding shifty eyes, trying not to
get
caught. The family of five gather,
around
the table. Dad at the head, mom
by
his side and the kids trailing behind.
The
warmth of the light, the sound of laughter.
“Do
you have any 4s?” Dad looks at his
hand.
A smirk spreads across his face, “Go Fish.”
After
ten long minutes of go fish
The game is done, the score is in, dad wins.
Shoulda seen that comin'. Shoulda thought that
through. Old man sure still has tricks up his sleeve
“Rematch!
Rematch!” Sister and I chant.
Dad
laughs out loud as if he wasn’t up
for
the challenge. “One more round and that’s it”
we
say. Let’s make this an interesting round.
50
in the middle and winner takes all.
Shoulda seen that comin'. Shoulda thought that
through. Of course dad would win once more.
Family game night, filled with sore losers
And winners, to which the winner gets the
bragging rights, the title and so much more
family game nights are the best nights.
family game nights are the best nights.
________________________________________________________________________
Prodigy by Charles Simic
I grew up bent over
a chessboard.
I loved the word endgame.
All my cousins looked worried.
It was a small house
near a Roman graveyard.
Planes and tanks
shook its windowpanes.
A retired professor of astronomy
taught me how to play.
That must have been in 1944.
In the set we were using,
the paint had almost chipped off
the black pieces.
The white King was missing
and had to be substituted for.
I’m told but do not believe
that that summer I witnessed
men hung from telephone poles.
I remember my mother
blindfolding me a lot.
She had a way of tucking my head
suddenly under her overcoat.
In chess, too, the professor told me,
the masters play blindfolded,
the great ones on several boards
at the same time.
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