I learned to play poker from him.

He genuinely wanted me to win.

He’d lean over my hand and tell me which cards to discard,
which to keep,
and how many to draw.

Dad said, “We play with change. Quarters raise the stakes.”

Only once did he ever throw a dollar coin in, and that was a moment.

He told my husband, “Go get the coin collection,”
his eyes sparkling mischief and fun.

Everyone watched, mouths dropping,
cards lowering to the table,
hands folding all around
as he tossed that bad boy into the pot.

He had nothing.
Absolutely nothing.

We all laughed and he said,
“Might as well have gone all in. It was such a shit hand.”

I miss him.

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