Eight eyes face inward,
an imperfect square
Meticulous tick marks
A careful scribe
Fifty two cards,
twelve face,
thirteen spades
Dealer shuffles,
a sliding bridge
You split
Knuckles rap
Not enough for blind
A flurry of movement
We good?
Good. Bid
I’ll go nill
The hell you will
Four eyes lock,
a pause,
a nod
He’ll go nill, I’ve got four
Don’t go Moe Bro
Fine go Moe
You lead
I farted, hope ya’ll smell it

Your turn

Nine months without you
You’re leaving us

Dirty diaper
Your turn

Midnight feeding
Your turn

He’s crying again
Your turn

Pooped again
Your turn

But when I come back?
You’ve been gone

Pooped again
Your turn

Your son woke up
Your turn

It’s so bad
Your turn

Daddy, wipe me
Your turn

When is it his turn?

Did we win?

Can you win the game

When there are no rules?
With no terms agreed

When we can’t agree
To what color uniform

When there is no goal
Can the goalie guard

When the audience tires
And changes the channel

When you can’t win the game
Can you lose

Adam Fenner is a Full-Time Husband, Father, and Accountant, who moonlights as an author. He is retiring veteran of the Marine Corps and the National Guard with deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan. Currently, he live in Georgia with my wife and three children.