...Solitaire (for Roy Peter)...

It was time to go.

All pertinent cards 

had been dealt; 

   played out. 

There were rules to the game. 

A game claimed for himself. 

A solitary game. 

There was no re-shuffle to his game. 

No bury of the card. 

A card stayed where it lay. 

The turning over 

of each consecutive 

was done without hesitation, 

for such   was   fate. 

That which was revealed 

might be beneficial to the game,  

but also to its detriment. 

It all depended 

on the original shuffle, 

and that shuffle, 

he had performed himself. 

There was no contesting the order, 

for such had been decreed. 

The play of cards 

could have been positive, 

and indeed, he at one point 

   perceived it so. 

The sequence of turned cards 

   fell to his favor. 

Life was good. 

      Life was good.

But then, at some point, 

they turned bad. 

Now, each card flowed 

   against him. 

No turn of the card 

   brought solace. 

There was only pain. 

I guess we should have asked 

if we could have sat down 

at his table. 

Yes, in this way 

we might have absorbed 

some of his good cards, 

but some of the bad as well. 

As it is, 

there was only him, 

and knowing how 

the game was to end, 

he threw down the deck 

before we 

could pull up a chair. 

Ó01 Jack David Hubbell