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The bet had been bound ... and boldly called,
          Right there on the cold castle grounds at eventide -
               Guests and dignitaries watching, under a mocking moon.
     Daintily, she dangled her digits in the dark, unctuous depths ...

She felt their eyes watching her warily, and waiting for her reaction,
          (Precisely why she paused briefly to ponder her predicament) ...
               Whatever was in the widening pool, was warm ... and not water,
     But she knew they sighted her still, staring and studying,

And she would not give them the sorry satisfaction.
          With no change of facial expression, she slowly withdrew her foot,
               Holding it high above the pool's placid periphery,
     Letting the dim, dense dampness drip from her toes,

Toes that were now black themselves,
          As black as the night closing in around them.
               The people all gasped at once ...
     Thus seeing clearly now what the fuss was fashioned for ...

OIL ... liquid gold gurgling from the good ground around them!
          An effusive torrent of Texas Tea, teeming from the earth,
               And it all belonged to her now ...
     The mansion behind them,

The twenty million magnificent square meters at the margins,
          The cars, planes, businesses, accounts, villas ...
               The vast and voracious volume of vanities
     That had vexed her for so very long,

And most of all, vengeance ...
          Now ALL hers, and hers alone,
               For the sake of five fated cards that lay face-up on the ground -
     HER cards, thrown at his feet ... four aces and a king.

When the inky black earthblood stopped dripping from her toes,
          She slowly walked over to the viscount,
               Pulled the handkerchief from his Brioni suit,
     Wiped her foot gently, returning the hanky to his pocket,

Whispered in his ear, "You may keep this, darling",
          Returned her shapely foot to its five-inch heel Blahnik pump,
               And, parting the crowd that had witnessed it all ...
     Walked off ... into the night.





~ 1st Place ~  in the "Contest No 620 With Alliteration Style Therein, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 5th Place ~  in the "The Crap Shoot" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Alliteration" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.
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