Archive
07/16/12
Rubber Bridge
Sad, isn't it, how our mortality, in the rubber match — No matter how it hews to Goren or Blackwood conventions And plays with spectacularly oracular passion and chutzpah — Always seems to be matched against death's untrumpable tricks, Succumbs to nine truncheon-clubs, a dozen hard-hearted hearts, Three graveyard spades, or five dust-to-dust diamonds, Ever overestimating our capacity to even out the odds, Pull a grand slam from the ashes of a burning deck Stacked with fifty-two different suits?
07/16/12
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