The Card Sharp (non-metrical)

Posted early on at PFFA.


(revised version)


The Card Sharp

Chips lie archipelago
on felt of river-green;
they scatter from my shore's
low mounds to the mountains
of his take, a range
that I would climb
to meet this sage.
I gaze, attentive acolyte:
the dextrous cut, the shark-
clean slip of cards. Narrow
fingers, studded emerald,
navigate my calls and calling.
He talks the deal, declaims
the probability of things,
No help, a king, no help,
them deuces never loses,
a bullet for the dealer.
He pulls on incense of Havana,
idly rubs his ring and fixes me.

Low, elegiac, the smoke
rolls from his mouth as slow
as fog. The euphony of sermons
on Nevada and percentages
lulls me just enough to see.
He snaps a jack. A trance
like morning mist or sixes
in the hole is lifted, blown
away and clear by hands
that rake the river clean
of islets. Mountains change
to cash, and I awake
to think this:
hypnotist.


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(original version)


The Card Sharp

Chips lie archipelago
on felt of river-green;
they scatter from my shore's
low mounds to the mountains
of his take, a range
that I would climb to meet
this sage. I dub him shark,
but dolphin suits the slip
of cards, the dextrous cut.
He talks the deal, declaims
the probability of things:
No help, a king, no help.
And now I call him Father,
priest and preacher-man.

Low, elegiac, the smoke
rolls from his mouth as slow
as fog. The euphony of sermons
on Nevada and percentages
lulls me just enough to see.
He snaps a jack. A trance
like morning mist or sixes
in the hole is lifted, blown
away and clear by hands
that rake the river clean
of islets. Mountains change
to cash, and then I name him
hypnotist.


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At the time, I was still learning what it takes to revise; I barely did anything to fix the problems here. Fun!