The Cheat Poem by Thomas Edward Puleston Rickarby

Heavy handed sleight of hand
was what it took to win the hand.
In the cave of his lap a crumpled knave,
a deadly, smuggled, silent fact. He's brave

to keep a queen or two, one up each sleeve,
when one quick slip could land him
in the street with just his name and wits.
His deal. He measures out the pack,

an actor passing out the script. He steals
an ace and with a flirt he hides his awful luck
in life; his wife, her stack already dry.
The chair in which she sat now finds

a lady in a black hat, smiling wide,
flipping bullets, cleaning house.