Scoundrels consuming smoke and booze, playing
Cards, cheating, gambling, acting as canines.
The clock chimes into the night, counting hours
The room darkened, except for the swaying lamp.
Each man a different breed, playin’ a role:
Stubborn and stout, the Pugs help each other
“Count my cards, slip me another good one”
The grand chip holders, kings of the table;
Showering in chips galore, winning cash.
Defeating with the sweep, they are cheating.
The Great Dane making his best attempt at
His grand bluff before calling the Bernard,
His vacant mourning eyes, tell his intent.
Sharp inhales, sending me small smoke signals.
Count your cards, take your time, I have the hand.
Saint Bernard's face glazed from too many drinks.
Not wanting to make wrong decisions, think.
Think hard, your mind aches from activity.
At home awaits your demise if you lose.
Bills to pay, but I'm not passing the chips.
The Boxers, twins at birth have connections
Reading the table as a children’s book;
The gift of luck, guessing the card amounts.
Try again next hand I have this one won,
You gave your best shot, but it’s time to fold.
I know I have the greatest
advantage
Pocket aces, playing with amateurs.
Pugs cheating only makes me laugh,
chuckle.
Poker requires skill, acquired with
my age,
This is felt boys, not just the
play yard grass.
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