Unbeknownst to management, there will be a poker game tonight.
There is always a poker game tonight,
and we always hold it at Don’s.
Don’s room has curtains between the beds
where we can hide the girls, the cards,
the pizza sneaked past the nurses’ station
all delicious things
all contraband
all not allowed after 10 o’clock.
Nothing’s allowed after 10 o’clock.
That’s when we turn into frogs.
(True). But we don’t let it worry us much.
We used to worry.
We used to think as visitors do
the ones who point
who say But you’re so different
Different how? Different from what?
Listen. We used to be different.
Now we are
the same.
Everyone turns into frogs after 10 o’clock.
Everyone’s bed is regulation size
and hard to sleep on.
We’ll claim we envy your Sunday Pass
but really that’s just etiquette.
We came by choice to these twill-padded halls
where everything is off limits
and anything is possible
and just a little bit better organized.
The economy runs on cigarettes
like the front line of any war.
YOU ARE READING
Dragonfly
PoetryWelcome to the Dragonfly collection by Deborah Fruchey. Here, the stars are savage things, toes are like crickets, and a friend is a lost wedding ring. These 10 evocative poems come from a larger work, Armadillo, available in print at http://amzn.t...
