Like a little boy...

A poem about poker... about remembering that poker is a game. A game that is often representative of life. The highs. The lows. But it is a game. Remember to have fun with it. Remember to laugh with it. Remember to love it. Remember when you were a little boy (or girl) and there were no worries in the world. So often I see too many people take this game entirely too seriously, as if the hand they lost is the end of the world. It's not. There is always tomorrow, and as long as you can enjoy and appreciate this game and realize that there is a human element and an element of luck, it'll be a game you love forever and that will love you in return.


He'd been here before,
the click clack music to his ears.
Gray and old,
he'd been shuffled like a deck of cards.
Over... and over...
again.

He remembered,
the first hand he'd ever been dealt.
It was a pretty simple one...
a fold.
And he waited for the next hand...
what would be the first of many.

There were the rushes,
where he won hand after hand,
and nothing could go wrong.
She smiled at him then...
and he laughed.
Like a little boy.

But this game wasn't always kind,
it broke him,
over and over again.
She yelled at him then...
and he cried.
Like a little boy.

He sat down in the chair,
knowing glances as he fiddled with his chips.
Cards thrown in his general direction,
and as he looked at his cards...
he was young again.
Like a little boy.

Like a little boy.