DC Playwrights

squirrel pushed a stack of acorns
to the middle of the table and said, “call.”
“all i have is the jack of diamonds.”
“read ‘em and weep,” said the squirrel
and laid down three ladies and a pair of deuces.
“nice,” i said. “could you tell i was bluffing?”

“you’re always bluffing,” said the squirrel.
“am i bluffing now?” i asked.
“yes,” said the squirrel.
“am i bluffing now?” i asked.
“yes,” said the squirrel.
“now?”
“yes,” said the squirrel.
“now?”
“if you ask me one more time,
i’ll rip your throat out,” said the squirrel.

it’s really hard to tell if a squirrel is bluffing.
was the tell the twitching tail?
when he wrinkled his nose?
or was it when he stuffed his cheeks full of nuts,
so full you’d swear his head was about to explode?

i wasn’t going to push my luck.
i was already down three grand
and a bushel of cashews.
“two bushels,” gloated the squirrel.
“and stop the interior monologue and deal the cards.”
meekly, i said, “you’re the squirrel.”