It was sunny Sunday afternoon
when that call came through-
pleading it was not you, it was me.
but it is me, hands are not tendered enough to peel back
all those layers, not just any ogre- but my heart is a swamp.
Playing pretend so it doesn’t exist, a couple of cards up your sleeves
so we’re never playing with a full deck
but the odds are always in your favor
never a full house but get this straight
you’ll flush me away royally.
I dream of the day
when the deck is full
and we play solitaire
side by side working to work back
all the layers of the sweet cake-
the one we baked together,
push back the hands reaching for the first slice
no no no we worked to hard for this delight
and with all our might will be the ones
to take that first bite.
you’ll trust me to feed it to you
and not rub your face in it
we can’t solve the worlds cube
if we keep burning the stickers
off our Rubix-
and we enjoyed that game,
no hidden aces, chips in our pockets
side bet with the man with the side burns that belongs in the eighties,
we took it on