The Hand Poem by J.D Lynch

</>The hand of good looks, money, a wonderful girl, a family, and soon an Ace is across from me

I am stuck here with a 2,7, Jack,5, and 8, of which the 2 and 7 are suited

The hand that feeds been bitten liberally

If I'm ever to draw again is a question that remains convoluted



The eyes of the owner of the hand examining my face

He likes what he sees and doesn't care to hide his smirk

Of what is one man's trash is another's treasure

He knows I'm beat, I know I'm beat, but I don't go beserk



What is simple to many is a laboring chore

The analytical eye white with surrender

For my lot in the pot I cry to the dealer in abhor

The only relief coming from a simple mental picture