Your love burned like a toy and hobby shop
in the first flush of an insurance scam.
With you a partnership is not one gram
to do with love, but “How far can I flop,
turn, river, baffle, push before you’ll drop?”
It’s shuffling your opponent’s mind enough
to deal him, squirming, no choice but to bluff,
then sneering, “Your behaviour’s over the top!”
You must withhold, withhold, withhold, withhold,
for honesty’s the deadliest of sins.
Show yourself and you would have to fold,
your faces shorn of their protective skins.
Perhaps all my ideas are quaint and old,
but I prefer a love where someone wins.
From “Disoccidented” by Alfie Shoyger: