You play three. Me, seven. Fifteen for two. This is where I lose you. Your phone vibrates, You leviate Sitting across from me, Making me an unwilling audience To all the drama. You vibrate. Your shoulders droop Like the gape-toothed village idiot. You gesticulate, Fading in and out In a semi-conscious awakening. You're trembling under stones Sitting on your chest. It shows in your tembling hands. Twenty, for two... Twenty-five, for six... I overhear your child is truant, Another wants a ride, Another a car, doctor or lawyer. You're shuffling in your seat. Not to worry. Affter the stones are lifted, And you're properly pegged In the stink hole, the game's over. Thirty, for twelve and a go. Game. So deal with it.