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Below is the poem entitled THURSDAY NIGHTS which was written by poet Sidney Beck. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Her game was whist,
Whilst mine the window vigil
Empty dark and wet
Blackness and pools of light
Lone nine year old watchman
Eyestrain through the rain
Glued to the glass
The city would not give her up
Till 10:20 pm exactly
10:20 exactly.
Not   10:23,  10:27,
Panic if after  11:00.
Unnamed unknown terror
Could cause her loss

Her game was whist.
I never understood it.
How could you know
Where the trumps lay?
She could handle the uncertainty.
I became a bridge-playing man.
Same game,  but the lie of the cards
Was more certain,  more exact.

An autobiographical  snippet.        As a child I always worried overly 
whenever my lone parent was out of sight, even for  her  regular 
Thursday night whist-playing session a mile away across town. 
I spent many long hours at the window  to catch sight of her walking home.

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  1. Date: 5/13/2013 11:45:00 AM
    Very nice piece. Well done