Table Tango

Where do they come from? The endless line.
Waiting in the Queue ’til the end of time.

They reach in their pockets for a chance to play.
Matching wits and skills to survive the foray.

They stack up their chips and then give them
away. What the hell, Brother, they came to play.

This entry was posted on Sunday, June 15th, 1997 at 4:07 pm and is filed under Poker Poems. Both comments and pings are currently closed.