Ace in the Hole

Ace in the Hole

In a quiet corner of the upstairs flat,
I shuffle the deck, the colour of the night’s dim light.
A simple game of bluff between a few pals,
While the firm crack of the cards charms the loo‑scene.

The ace is tucked in my pocket like a secret boot
— a whisper of luck I keep hidden till the final pull.
“Don’t rush,” says the grimy baron, “hold it close,
For the best surprises are found when the odds turn slow.”

There’s a thrill in the pause, the air thick, the eyes are wide,
A tension born of chequered hearts, a game with pride.
When the crowd cheers, the ace unfolds, a glorious flourish—
Victory’s sweet, the favourite tale of a wily, quiet hurdle.

So I remember that night, the guard that budged the plan,
That Ace in the Hole shall never be faded as the fans recede.