Upper Hand Poem by Pasquale DiMeola

The poker players one and five
All gathered for a common game
When everyone whose who arrived
Cards equally were laid the same

The five were bounded best of friends
Inviting the stranger within
He lived amongst them round the bend
Always wearing a foolish grin

The buddies had devised a plan
To drain the stranger dry and clean
Beneath the table nimble hands
Exchanged the aces, kings and queens

The stranger brought a quart of Scotch
Which all the five did fast partake
His grin got wider as he watched
Eyelids attempt to stay awake

The five pilfered the stranger's chips
Yet one by one five hit the floor
They laid in silence with blue lips
Smooth poison leaking through their pores

The stranger kept his ancient seat
To hear the friends expunge their breath
Those multitudes who scheme to cheat
All odds will always favor death.