Poker Night

Last night,
I sat down for my first poker match with Satan.
tucking my legs under the chair
and flashing just enough nervous for a sec
to win his respect.

he dealt, of course.

'I don't even know how to play poker, I was possessed to say
you'll learn' he replied
i made it on my first try
it wasn't hard
my hands moved but i didn't look at the cards

satan did the same

the green furry circular table is set
in the center of a low-ceilinged, dim-lit saloon -
in a dusty wooden corner,
an old man with a big beard, saggy hat sits on a stool
strumming a guitar

a boy crouches next to the old man's
open case, into which
patrons throw nevada bank notes
this is a rich,
austere space -

above the table, a hanging lightbulb humming
beneath the table,
my erection growing
to the steady,
lovely green strumming

- my eyes don't show it
fixed right on satan's
time passes but doesn't

when satan talks,
his handsome, triangular face
flashes shades of red;
looking him in his eyes, i don't listen
but admire their glisten.

- my eyes don't show it
fixed right on satan's
time passes but doesn't

'you know the world's going to end.
maybe, maybe not' i retorted.

he didn't like that.
he won every hand.