Skip to main content
Poets.org

mobileMenu

  • Poems
  • Poets
  • Poem-a-Day
  • National Poetry Month
  • Materials for Teachers
  • Academy of American Poets
  • American Poets Magazine

Main navigation

  • Poets.org
  • Academy of American Poets
  • National Poetry Month
  • American Poets Magazine

User account menu

  • Log in
  • Membership
  • Donate
Donate
Donate
Poets.org

2022 Madeline DeGaetano Memorial Poetry Prize

Page submenu block

  • find poems
  • find poets
  • poem-a-day
  • library (texts, books & more)
  • materials for teachers
  • poetry near you

The Joker

by Janaleigh "Jay" Muszynsky

 

I am nothing but a badly dealt hand, a flop on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s a safe bet that Dad will send a card on my birthday, double down on Christmas, but there are 363 other days in the year. Mom always says an “oops” is better than a mistake, but Bob Ross was always a bad beat. We all know that a straight is better than a full house, I’d rather burn the house. It’s a safe bet that Dad will send a card on my birthday, I’ll double down for Christmas, but there are still 363 other days in the year. I wish I hadn’t ended up this way, a folded hand never worthy of the heads up. We all know that a straight is better than a full house, but I’d rather burn the house. Dad used to say he lost his favorite queen – but was it me or was it her? I wish I hadn’t ended up this way, like a folded hand, never worthy of the heads up. The Ace is always high when you’re Asian, and I learned to expect nothing less. Dad used to say he lost his favorite queen, is it me or is it her? Mom always says that the closest she got to gambling was with me. The Ace is always high when you’re Asian, and I learned to expect nothing less. All of the cards were in his hand, but he still chose to play 52 pick up. Mom always says that the closest she got to gambling was with me, but I think it was with him. The harshest play will always be the slamming door, the table flipping, the room going dark. All of the cards were in his hand, yet he made me pick up the deck. I wish my mom placed her bets differently. The harshest play will always be the slamming door, the table flipping, the room going dark. I am nothing but a badly dealt hand, a flop on a Wednesday afternoon.

back to University & College Poetry Prizes

Newsletter Sign Up

Support Us

  • Become a Member
  • Donate Now
  • Get Involved
  • Make a Bequest
  • Advertise with Us
  • Poets Shop

Follow Us

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • SoundCloud
  • YouTube
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest

Footer

  • poets.org

    • Find Poems
    • Find Poets
    • Poetry Near You
    • Jobs for Poets
    • Read Stanza
    • Privacy Policy
    • Press Center
    • Advertise

  • academy of american poets

    • About Us
    • Programs
    • Prizes
    • First Book Award
    • James Laughlin Award
    • Ambroggio Prize
    • Chancellors
    • Staff

  • national poetry month

    • Poetry & the Creative Mind
    • Dear Poet Project
    • Poster
    • 30 Ways to Celebrate
    • Sponsorship

  • american poets

    • Books Noted
    • Essays
    • Advertise
© Academy of American Poets, 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038
poets .org