I know the dealer
at the Game of Love.
He smirks as I sit down.
We go way back.
He has dealt me in
more than a few times.
I know his sticky fingers,
his devious, crooked smile
radiating amused certainty.
I know his game is rigged,
he knows I know it too,
but it's the only one in town.
I have never held
a winning hand
at his corrupt table,
never even won a game.
I thought that was all
in the bitter past.
But here I sit again.
He shuffles and sneers.
He knows a sucker
when he sees one
and I am surely marked.
With a smug look
that says he knew
I would be back,
his eyebrows arch
a cynical question.
He knows I am too old
for this impossible game,
but he knows how much
I want to play.
I nod toward him,
but he insists I speak
the invocation out loud.
“Deal me in,” I say
and the cards begin to fly.
I know this dealer
at the Game of Love
and he knows I must try.
   ~mce