Hand Full of Jokers
Hand Full
of Jokers
Runaway coach and unbridled driver,
Rattling apart the each.
The horses in their traces scream frenzied,
Pleasure rides forced into servitude.
Whip hand working overtime,
The driver lurches off the track.
Passengers tightly crammed and unfed,
They grouse their discomfort.
Most realize they have been taken for a ride,
Yet the reins remain in the hands of the madman.
The cliff’s edge looms beside,
Beckoning the blinded with false solidity,
Turn further right and…
Or is it the lightless tunnel that calls,
No end in sight,
And a mountain of weight threatening.
The calvary rides in blue,
Chasing rogues.
Bullies and bandits in the hire of the coach company,
Or loyal to robber barons and corrupt lawmen,
Impediments to farmer and rancher alike,
Looking no farther than the range of their weapons.
The carriage crashes on,
Axles strained and threatening shear,
Wheels splintering on rough ground,
Fields sown and rotting,
Bounty promised and unharvested.
The assurances long abandoned,
Luggage forgotten as soon as packed,
Now fallen and scattered.
The only trunk remaining carried is open,
Lettered in Greek,
Its contents slowly and continually leaking.
The driver shouts unintelligible,
Then sleeps on his perch.
The reins go slack,
The horses kick each other as they panic,
And run more wild.
The driver wakes long enough to demand more pay,
Threatening to never stop the run.
The passengers point fingers,
Some at the torrid landscape,
Some at the mad driver,
Some at each other.
A few claim
They are getting the ride they paid for,
Some say it is not the journey advertised,
Some claim an alternate destination has been plotted.
None are exiting.
The driver wakes and deals a crooked game,
But the players can’t see the cards
Until he collects the pot.
He smiles,
His hand full of jokers.
“We’re winning!”, he screams,
Then changes the rules again.
The coach careens on.
And on,
And on.
Cliff Lake 11/9/2025
Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025
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