Fifty-Three

Across the smoke I have found the eyes
Blue and grey intertwined forever
As on a southern battlefield
But only inches across the table.

The hands, always cold, reach for the ashtray
and the life of the fire is extinguished
before there is time for mourning
another quickly fills his place

Comfortably silent I join this game
Smoke, eyes, and the occasional giggle
You may not know it yet
But the winner is me.