(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.