poker poetry: the day my life turned into game of poker

I have been sitting here as soon as I woke up, playing poker online (a past-time that seemingly developed into a habit and a habit drawn from boredom) on different tables, in different rooms, with different hosts, different jerks, different posers, and indifferent dealers. Now I’m still awake, alive but not so enthusiastic. I’m tired but I can’t shut my brain’s power-switch off. And I decide to play my last hand of the night.

I forget, it's already dawning.

Is this insomnia leading me to amnesia? Definitely to anemia but hopefully not to schizophrenia – such paranoia I can’t endure.

Apparently, there is another episode of sleeplessness I have to deal with. Should the angry sound of the sharp globules of rain thwacking the roof like a madman be the one to blame? Or mainly owing to caffeine making love to my cell membranes after taking my sixty-seventh sip of black coffee since the precise moment Tuesday kissed Wednesday goodnight up to this scorching time of the sun’s tyranny? Or probably an addiction? To poker? Or to sleeplessness? Or is it another rendezvous with my imaginary friends I only meet on the back of my mind?

 

With cheap Chippy chips for breakfast paired with another cup of coffee… I even managed to make fun of the pun in the snack I devour and the chips I use for betting.

 

Slowly, indubitably, my life turns into a pathetic, lame game of poker. With the jack and the king of diamonds on my hand, I wait for my turn, dealing with archfiends disguised as ordinary human beings, hoping that the flop can eventually save me, wishing that the dealer possesses clairvoyance to read my card and bestow some clemency on my vanishing heap of chips.

Everybody called deliberately except for the guy sitting next to me. He bets a grand. Can it possibly be that this idiot foe of mine is bluffing me? Should I call or raise the bet? How much? Should I fold? What if the flop shows a winning streak? Should I go all in? To turn my accusations of bluff a mock towards me?

 

Then there goes the flop… the deuce of hearts, the ace and the ten of diamonds.

 

I want to sleep neither because I need to nor I’m weary. I just want to go to bed and have a last-play syndrome in my imagination where I will be able to control the flop, the turn and the river. Where I will be able to manage my mind to alter my cards into a perfect hand of luck – a full house, with an ace high or a royal flush. But before I do, I want to make it big or lose it all. I think of the ‘now’ versus the ‘never.’ So I’m betting all in.

 

Then the turn: the stupid seven of spades draws in.

 

What lurks behind this mystery? A messy mill of misery? Another twist of fate that will test my faith? Like rhythms that never rhyme, I set my brain free plunging into a space between sanity and lunacy, wondering, wandering, searching for the river that will save me.

 

Stricken with anxiety over anticipation bearing the feeling that resembles dejection, I bet, I curse…

And I conquer.

 

The river saves me - a queen.

Or so I assume...

Playing poker online... I am a good pretender, a competent bluffer but such skill is manifested physically. How could I ever show it online without the other players seeing me and without me looking at them in the eyes? Because just now, I am busted despite having a decent straight to ace. The jerk bettor beside me has a flush. The queen of the river belongs to the kingdom of hearts and it pinches the organ in my body that resonates its last name.

There's a light of little luck but there's also a black hole of mercy. In the world of poker, sometimes, it's not all about strategy. Nevertheless, I don't think I've got any of those. Never in my life that I will play this game for real. Maybe for fun but I don't think that gambling is in my blood. Even my luck can attest to that. When that time comes, I'm gonna use Chippy chips as chips and make this past-time a tasty game in reality.