As we sat in the dark,
Under the distant light
Of streetlamps and dim stars,
He dealt a round of cards
On our table of synthetic grass.
It was a little strange,
Playing a game of poker
With people I’d least expect,
But it was a small joy.
My skin tingled a little
Underneath the gentle breeze
As we navigated rounds of confusion
And comical wins, and losses.
The only thing wrong with tonight,
Is the effort to commute home.
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