CARDS
Paul Kavanagh
I lost the intended title on a Royal Flush. Never play cards with a famous writer, I thought. On the second hand, a Straight Flush, I lost the similes and the metaphors. Irony gambled with allusions and heteroglossia fell to Four of a Kind.
The famous writer offered me a cigar and a drink. He felt sorry for me. When you are in the presence of a famous writer, you never confess to being a nonsmoker or a lousy drinker.
I lost the voice and tone on a Full House, followed by the didactic to a Flush.
'Do you have any perverted sentences?'
'What?'
'Linguistically twisted.'
'No.'
When I lost the plot and index cards to a Straight, I knew I was in trouble.
'When you are finished with the index cards, do you mind returning them?’ I asked.
'No.'
'Why?'
'I fear plagiarism.'
There were bits and pieces of syntax he did not care for.
'A comma is a penny in my book,’ he said. ‘More whiskey?
I folded a Three of a Kind and lost the story’s Aristotelian beginning, middle and end.
'I’ll keep the middle and end; you can keep that weak opening and Aristotle. Philosophy is dead, like astrology and alchemy in my book.'
I asked for an interlude, but I lost the interlude on a Two Pair.
We talked of Theophrastus’s list.
'Those Greeks,’ he said, ‘never flew to Cuba to see inner thighs stained with tobacco.'
He took two and left me three: a giant mute, a moribund servant, and a crazed Marquis. I think he had an aversion to alliteration.
Grinding poverty, brutal gestures, sexual depravity, unhappy marriages, sordid backgrounds and acute misery fell to One Pair.
'I have terrible luck,’ I said.
'They built Las Vegas for a reason,’ he said.
He won all my favourite words. He will never use them.
When I got up to go, he begged me for one last hand.
I played.
He won with a High Card.
he took the capital letters, even the full stops