desolate, The hand I’m dealt;
Cruelly, he craftily marked my cards,
And I’m left to tighten my belt.
Each time I hope, not this time,
Just a small win to get by;
But the king owns a cold-stacked deck,
His riffle and cut Is sly.
The table is cleared to start again,
The king readily cuts my purse;
Twists of fate beyond my control ;
This my wage slave curse.
A Kelly 2020
