Scuttling

I see the family on the table

their crowns speak royalty

as my hand reads numbers

that stand without pair.

I look around the table

with bets flying around 

all based on the back designs

of every piece of paper

and the face on each player.

 

I know that even when

you’re dealt a bad hand

you keep your cards high,

and your head higher

because you’re the only one 

that knows that ship is sinking

when they all look afloat.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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