Game Genre Poems

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2017 by Hello World

Boot’s Limerick

I once was an old pewter boot.
Passing go was my only pursuit.
They voted me off,
with nary a cough,
instead, choosing a cat of ill repute.


Rummy’s Ace

Am I high,
or am I low.
Should I stay,
or should I go.
Will I wait,
or will I meld.
I may be played,
or I may be held.
To be laid off,
if there’s no run,
as thirteenth card
or number one.


The Sorry Pawn

Enslaved by my colour, shackled from the start, drawn and quartered on the deck, only one or two moved, outside, outside. Outside.
The tedium of waiting. Wearisome.
Jumping over one another, sending the other back, back. Back. Bump is the euphemism.
But screwed is what it is.
Sliding down, down. Down.
Looking for the safe zones.
Looking, looking. Looking.
I am sorry. But I am not. I am required to be sorry. But I am not. Not. Never.
Never sorry.


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