Isam Hussain (8-12-1938 / Iraq)
A Game of Bridge
The pack is shuffled and cut,
the dealer gives each his lot.
I sense Hope welling up within,
whispering, “It is your turn to win”.
I pick up my allotted share,
expecting a set good and fair;
a hand I can play with flair.
My Hope is dashed, I despair.
Ego steps in, whispering, “Not to worry,
Lady Luck has planned things this way,
she often works in a roundabout way;
your partner will help you win the day”.
The bidding starts: No Bid, One Heart.
Now it is my partner's turn to play his part,
Bid 'Slam' and make my day.
'No Bid, ’ comes the reply.
My jaw drops, my Ego deflates;
and within me a strange feeling flares:
one of anger mixed with shame,
and the need for someone to blame.
I've known this feeling many times before,
and each time I vowed and solemnly swore
to banish false Hope, Ego, and Lady Luck,
those shadowy false friends of every punk.
The cards are dealt again.
That feeling is back again,
My friends are here again;
Surely, I can’t lose again!
Comments about this poem (A Game of Bridge by Isam Hussain )
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