Geological Survey
In a game of chicken, I’ll be the first to swerve.
Playing Monopoly, I’ll end up with Baltic Ave. and no houses.
Poker—why bother? Better to open my wallet, save everyone time.
In moments of weakness I’m prone sentimentality.
Alas, I’m terrible at games, so why do I keep showing up to play?
I’m trying to figure that out, and when I do, you’ll be the first to know.
In the meantime, ignore my missives, the would-have-could-haves.
They’re just tremor blips on the long seismic sheet of straight lines.
For this one is worthy of forgetting, writing off as an anomaly.
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