Ode to the Bank


The fire is hot tonight, his soul is weak.
The gambler holds a hand he should not bet.
He tries to bluff but finds it hard to speak.

The player next to him can smell him sweat.
Right now his poker sense has come undone.
He waits for cards he knows he will not get.

He wonders where his good luck all has gone.
Each raise has caused his eyes to stop and blink,
then stare at cards he knew could not have won.

Despair appears, he folds and starts to drink.
He takes a break to find an ATM,
walks out into the night, and starts to think.

If he goes back, his chance to win is slim.
If he leaves now, it's like walking the plank.
So either way his future looks quite dim.

He feels like fish bait bound for Sharkey's tank.
He knows how much is still owed to the bank.

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