He was in his forties maybe, or older,

            Hard to tell through the smoke

            Under the lights

            Not a particularly interesting face but

            I couldn’t help looking from time to time

            He sat at the corner table

            Near the entrance of the bar

            Throwing the cards down without a snap,

            Gathering them with his thick hands

            Listlessly, and all over again

            His eyes never drifted to the door

            It took me a while to figure out 

            He was counting, counting . . .

            I had the urge to say something 

            But thought better of it –

            There was a crowd,

            I was growing tired,

            What would she think to find me

            Playing cards with a stranger

            When she arrived?

            It wasn’t the first time

            I’d kept myself in check,

            And I was only half his age