Poem: The Game

The Game

It's a game she said
as she sipped her coffee,
fresh from Starbucks,
hot and expensive,
matching the dress she wore
as she sat across from your desk.

It's a game, she said,
manipulating the people around you,
to make them buy, make them want
what you have, a game to play
on their fear, their weakness,
and see in you, their savior.

It's a game, she said,
and I play it well and I play it to win,
and I do, and I live well with my cats,
in a palace of a home,
and you wonder as she talks
if she realizes
it's not a game,
and that she has already lost.

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The picture was taken in an antique store on the market in Roanoke, Virginia. You can click on it for a larger version.