All Bets Are Off

all bets are off
by pat a physics
It stirred something deep within the snowman version of me
to see you at work, pissed, with too much mascara on
while everyone was at the barn, drinking and dancing.
Thrusting a coupon at me, emitting a snort of dissatisfaction,
you spoke quietly about an earlier unpleasant encounter.
We were covered in blue light at the auto parts store.
I looked at your tattooed hand going up to your face
over and over again. Reflecting on the wasted potential
of our small party at the checkout line, I have to laugh.
Did I laugh? Maybe I did because you gave me a look.
It was a look that told me all bets were off. And now,
my friend, you had to shuffle this thing, slam it shut,
and the transition gave me a tiny bit of anguish. Just enough
to where I felt you had an advantage, and left me
to roam the convex mirror aisle with no direction.

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