The Wildcard, poem by Scott Norman Rosenthal

 

                           The Wildcard

 

When I pulled it from my sleeve, it was a small deer,

  a “hart."                                                                                                                                    

With a wild song and a lasso

 I chased it;

It turned into a cricket

 and regarded me

like a lover, suddenly gone cold.

 

 When I picked it up,

it was a Queen of Hearts,

 too late to finish the hand.

 

                (Scott Norman Rosenthal;, 1977)