Poker House

He says, "You are the distraction, my love,"
She gets all dolled up,
Which means onyx liner and a messy bun.
They Walk in, arm in arm, heads turning,
All eyes on her, his beautiful wife.
He goes and checks in,
And she sits perfectly positioned,
Everyone can see her.
There’s something inherent
About a room full of men vying for her attention.
They call over the intercom, “We Clean It”  
He sits down,
The dealer deals the cards—six and jack.
Most would fold, but not him.
He raises.
Everyone folds except one, who calls.
Texas Hold ‘Em.
The stakes rise, the air thick with tension. An  
Hour later he rakes in seventeen hundred, smooth as silk.
"Nice playing with you all," he says,
His voice low, a flick of his wrist
As he collects his chips.
He walks away from the table with his sly smile.
He approaches his trophy,
The woman who owns everyone’s gaze.
He leans in, whispers, "It’s time to go."
She smiles, eyes warm and loving,
Her presence a quiet challenge to the others.
They leave together, like a king and his queen,
Walking into the night.
He whispers to her,
"You see, when a guy walks in a poker room
with a beautiful woman it triggers something deep.
something unknowingly primal. The other men
Want to prove themselves, to bust my head,  
So, they take risks, make brass decisions,
Because that's the game they think they're playing.
But they don’t realize—it’s all psychology.
They’re so busy focusing on you,
On showing their strength,
That they lose sight of the one thing that matters.
You are my little distraction,
And I know how to play my hand."
 
NP