Card Sharked by the Garbage

(Fictionalized account from an old journal entry dated June 15, 2004, the summer I spent renovating my sister’s ski house in Vermont.)

I had already spent half the day cleaning up shredded trash and garbage that bears had scattered in and around the property from one end to the other. The previous owners, when they had moved out of the house, had left four plastic garbage cans filled with trash sitting next to the front step for the bears to have their way with. When I finally got to the last pile, several shredded bags worth strewn about the woods below the house, I noticed three playing cards laying face down on a rock as though they had been dealt. I picked them up and turned them over—two jacks, diamond and club, and a queen of hearts. Not bad for openers. Looking around I noticed numerous other cards strewn about in the scattered pile, probably a whole deck that had been thrown out with the trash. Most of them were laying face down.

So, hating to waste such an excellent starting hand I conceived an improvised game of seven card stud, my best five out of seven randomly selected cards against the garbage pile’s best hand. I issued a challenge to the wood faeries, the bear spirits, the trash gods, whoever had been responsible for dealing out these cards and facilitating the game. “Show me what you got, motherf#:/ers!” I already had my opening hand so the next three randomly pulled cards I awarded to the trash pile’s hand—king of spades, three and six of diamonds. Rags. Absolute rubbish. I had this contest in the bag.

The remaining four cards of our respective hands I dealt one at a time in alternating sequence. I pulled a seven of clubs and dealt out a two of diamonds. My opponent was working toward a possible flush draw with three diamonds, but I still had him so far. Next I drew a queen of diamonds and dealt out a two of clubs, giving me a high two pair, queens and jacks, against a pair of deuces. I was on fire, smoking. Too bad there was no way to bet this hand. Just my luck. Otherwise I would be full tilt bumpin and raisin, all in, going for the kill. “Yeah baby! Who’s trash talking now?”

I dealt another round, pulling the four of spades and dealing out a five of diamonds. Nothing to help my hand but the deal did help my grungy opponent’s bid for a flush draw. With only one more card to go, I wasn’t worried though. I had two of the diamonds that dirtbag needed in my own hand. The game was all but over. I dealt myself the last card, the jack of spades. Cha-ching! That was all she wrote baby. I had nailed the barn, a full house—jacks over queens. Even if that worthless heap did pull a diamond out of his ass it wouldn’t help him any now. I had the nuts. I dealt out the last card, the four of diamonds. Amazing, the sucker did hit the fifth diamond after all. Too bad anyway, a full house still beats a flush. “Read ‘em and weep, fishbait! Eat that, flippin’ wood faeries!”

Following a brief victory dance, a few more taunts to my opponent—“whatcya gone do now, compost lips? Who’s gotchya daddy, who’s gotchya daddy”—I was gathering up the cards to throw them away and preparing to resume cleaning up the yard when I took one final gloating look at the hands. That’s when I noticed....holy f#:/ing jones that’s not a flush, it’s a STRAIGHT FLUSH! I couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be true. I had just been beaten at poker by an inanimate pile of yard trash that somehow pulled off a back door inside straight flush on the last two cards—a near impossible gut shot draw. I felt stunned, reeling, embarrassed. This couldn’t possibly have been just some random unpremeditated occurrence. Someone, something was in on this. I swear for a moment I could hear what sounded like laughter coming from somewhere deep in the woods, not human laughter either but something else altogether. It was as though the coyotes were laughing at me, the raccoons, the goddamned bears. The universe itself was mocking me. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so good. I threw the cards down and walked back into the house, locking the door behind me.

American Dream (original poem)

If I could simply save the world
with an ice cream flavor
I would become
its liberator

Something smooth and nifty like
'die white chocolate yuppie scum banana' or
'save the blueberry whale sorbet and cream'
something just right for an American dream

Congratulations, You May Already Be A Winner (original poem)

The good news is there is hope for us all—
Each of us willing to toe the line,
Speak the gospel, hunker to the grind
And muster a fistful of coin
Or half an act of Sunday faith—
That each of us may someday own
The mansion on the hill,
The thousand green acres and seven car garage.

Observance will begin the usual ways—
Closing the eyes, bending
The knee, bowing the head,
Clicking the heels three times,
Spitting on a slice of bread—
So that paradise may spread before us,
A raw shucked oyster
Glistening with wet salvation.

So you see, it’s all ours' to choose,
The righteous path, the lucky number;
To conjure the unpronounceable name
Or grease the pearly hand
Brandishing the keys
To the gate, the upstairs room
Chock full of vestal virgins
Yearning for surrender.

Smoldering Embers

There are times, like now, when I feel so disconnected, so strapped and embittered by hollow and mundane circumstances weighing me down, utterly empty of the fire of passionate experience. Stewing at ninety eight degrees Fahrenheit, just enough lackluster warmth to maintain the core body temperature of quiet desperation, I’ve all but forgotten what it’s like to burn bright. I know this exile is temporary, that it will pass.

But what a stark contrast between now and the memory of that momentary transcendence three years ago when, on my last day at Burning Man, I had finally found the frog ponds after half a day spent blindly roaming the desert hills on my bike a few miles outside the confines of Black Rock City. It was nearing dusk and I was completely exhausted, half dehydrated from hours out in the harsh Nevada sun. There was a couple there, a man and woman, swimming naked. I peeled off my clothes and dove in. A moment later the woman climbed out and grabbed a couple of beers from a small cooler. She asked me if I wanted one and over that small gesture we started a conversation. After awhile, as the sun was sinking low on the western horizon and a three quarter moon was rising in the east, the couple got out and headed off toward the other pond where they could be more intimate.

Alone, I stretched out in the water floating on my back and watched the last embers of the sun sink into the desert. As I lay suspended in that radiant, moon shimmering water, so distant from the cacophonous pageantry of the festival I’d left behind, surrounded by the burgeoning darkness and listening to the frogs singing in the twilight, a profound peace settled over me. Tears welled in my eyes and I remember speaking the words aloud, “keep this, remember it, take it with you.”