November 5, 2013
I have chosen as the subjects of my poems two that are fraught with revelation and the lack thereof:
Death and Poker
My mother died in the middle of quick.
nor slow and agonizing.
She took her news and made her plans.
As day turned into another day,
she died as she lived,
crossing things off her meticulous list.
When ready, she closed her eyes
And waved goodbye.
Not a crashing, shocking end,
Or the agonizing, drawn out, emaciating finish
But in the middle of quick;
a good leaving.
I know my hand. I glance at it from time to time
and make a habit
of keeping my eyes on the
I’ve played what’s been dealt and at times
pulled to an inside
straight, against the judgment
on my shoulder.
When chips were
I’ve called a bluff and
once or twice, tapped out. It's
not in my nature
but I learned from the
when odds are against me, to not raise my