For Anne

We sit at the round table,
Locked in something
Less than mortal combat.

Cards, dice, pieces,
Not always my favorite
Pastime,
"A friendly game"
Not quite enough
To tease my
Mr. Hyde
From his slumber.

The stakes are low,
Bragging rights and
Family sarcasm.
You love the game
Yet feign to hate
The bite of loss.

We long for time,
Time with our children,
Our friends,
Time to hear laughter
And to sharpen our
Wooden swords
Against loneliness.