Seventy, Sex and Solitaire

I’m obsessed with this game, always have been.

I’m obsessed as an old man with the rumpy-humpy

dance of these red and black kings and queens

which I slap flat on their backs.  I am playing on

a computer now, but I can still hear that fly-swatter,

slappy sound.  I place the head of a knave on his

mother-in-law’s breast. She swoons but doesn’t

seem to mind.  These fancy royals drip gravy-ladles

of lust and love, but then every soul in this house

of cards does  Even the lowly scullery maids with her

wall-flower act doesn’t fool me.  She’s getting ready

to lift her skirts and pounce.

And when I have the fifty-odd crowd virtually all

undressed, I face three or four gentlemen who

rightly expect I will do the right thing and button

their manhood up.  But when I can’t they seem

to understand and shuffle off, buck naked,

to a Turkish bath.  I’d like to do the right thing,

but sometimes it’s just not in the cards.

I’m obsessed with this game, always have been.

FG        7/1/2015

As my Internet has been cut off, I've been playing a lot of solitaire.