I sometimes wish it never happened, so I wouldn’t miss it as much as I do.

“I don’t know Jack shit about this.”
but we play anyway.
Bent cards flipping off the table,
focus in our gritted teeth
that is clear to all the passengers
on the train.
Our hands fly down, hard.
My thumb might break,
I think but just laugh,
our screams flutter down the aisles
and the Aces, to the floor,
next to our feet,
to our boots ,
tired of the Velcro of Yorkshire.