Forty-Something Years in Ninaland

Poker Face


Photo by Farhan Siddicq on Unsplash

You didn’t play this hand…

You said you needed space.

But the real question is:

Can you read my face?


We mutter things in the mornings

many untrue words…lying over coffee.

We play hooky for the rest of the day.

Thinking this somehow makes us free.


The elephant in the room is doing yoga

and we play guitar to know our names.

But this is not a joke

we’re not laughing when we play these games.


You said it was the whiskey, I said it was the rice.

Neither one of us knows why we can’t digest life.


In a room full of tables, we sit on the floor.

Let’s sit in a circle and take out the booze.

We are dancing together without any shoes.


We make believe we know our lines in the play.

The truth is the trumpet

it is so loud as to drown out our voices.

We don’t know how to sing anyway.


We can talk about it while playing a hand of poker

but which one of us is bluffing

we will never know until it’s over.


We remember TV shows from the eighties

but don’t know where we kept the remote.

Let’s talk about life for once

and ignore the news,

let’s sing and dance to nineties tunes.


Take a pill this time

without reading the side effects.

We are going to die regardless of what we do or say.

We need to accept the hand we get

no one else will share their cards.

So we might as well learn how to play.


What do we know about suffering?

We sit in our carpeted rooms.

We play dead when they come for us.

These are our plastic tombs.


We don’t know the difference between real life

and what’s posing as life on the Internet.

We hardly know what to give,

in order to get.


We are part of this show

we have been given dice to throw.


Put on your poker face,

come on you know the drill

How much you wanna risk?

How many times will you swallow this pill?



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