Cards 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 ________________________________________________________________________ |