The Queen Of Hearts And The Man Without Much Ado Poem by saranyan bee

I shuffled the pack of cards
fifty four times,
each time I picked one
from somewhere in the middle.

I wanted the Queen of hearts,
I swear got her none out of the fifty four shuffles,
amazing the law of probability failed me -
the pack had the aroma of cigarettes.

My wrist ached by her unkindness,
my hand, my knuckles
the pain grew in the fingers like a cucumber,
my brain sensed the numbness of those parts.

I brought me a glass of apple juice
cold but with no cubes of ice,
it had the sting and sweetness
to linger through another hour of sleeplessness.

My love didn’t call; her caller tone is shrill
though less on decibels,
runs through the place between my bums
like the saber without trims,

The burning stub stifled like a stud horse
in prime, I went for one more shuffling game
vicious for the final pick -
Lo, she jilted me again.

I spread all, all
of fifty four like the winged fan
behind which my bedecked geisha clan
hide hanging on the ghoulish wall,

The queen choose the diamond of nine
for refusing the glare of light,
it’s past two in the midnight,
So, I put her in the hard bed of mine.