P for Poker

Pleased by the sense of Perpetual allure to the wonder of this game, we sit Poised around a table. All of us sit, with a Premature hope of Purging the Pockets of People, who share the Precise same thought. A Pack of 52 cards, stares back at us with Purpose,  Priding itself on the ingenious Plot it has Planned. Placed with Poignancy on a Plane by the dealer, the act is like a Performance, one where the Performer always seems to be at his Prime. Praying with all our heart, we Pick up the Pair of cards. Patiently we wait, as the cards are Pried out of the Pile and Placed with an air of Prominence that can Petrify even the Powerful. The air of Placidity is slowly but surely being Phased out, the Pigmentation on our faces begins to Pale, we know it’s time to Play.

Prisoners of a Peevish mind are the Probabilities that are Parried on Perusal of the flop. It is with immense Prognosis that the Protagonist in me, Placed a bet, Piquing the interest of the rest. Preordained was the fate of this Pot, but Privy to this fact were all but few. The bet was matched with a Perfunctory air of arrogance, Pardonable for the allowance for Primitive minds. Pouring in were the bets, almost like a Play whose Plot Plays out on its own to the Playwright’s Perception of Perfection.

Partial to me, and Petulant to the rest had fate Played itself out. Pleased was I, Perplexed  and Poverty-stricken were the rest when the Pot was Placed in my Possession. Was it Providence that Propelled me from Poverty to affluence? Perhaps. Does it matter that Perpetuating a heist was never my Primary objective? Perhaps not.

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