GRANDMA'S EUCHRE
| My grandma loved her card nights And euchre was her game In the small town that we lived in She enjoyed a kind of fame She seemed to win the 'Tournaments' Most every single week The chances of her losing Were always pretty bleak I would often play a game with her And with a kindly grin She'd play her cards so badly That she'd always let me win Mind you, I was just a little lad About ten years of age And in that sleepy era Euchre was the rage My grandma's constant partner Was my dear old aunty Jean And when they played together They were the best the town had seen The 'Trophy' was just chocolates But it was pride that got them in And they'd shake hands with the devil If he promised that they'd win Each 'team' had secret signals That their partners knew real well And without a twinge of conscience They'd cheat like bloody hell Well, it happened on one fateful night My aunty felt quite lean So grandma took me with her To replace dear aunty Jean My pride swelled up within me It was pride before the fall Grandma tried to teach me signals There's hardly one I can recall Before we started out that night She sat me on a seat And with loving smiles and tenderness She taught me how to cheat This was not the grandma that I knew For I was still quite small And my mind was blank and useless When we reached the 'Euchre Hall' There was not another male there I don't think that they dared The way these women played at cards Charles Bronson would be scared The atmosphere was threatening And I have to state with shame That I would have felt much safer At a wild-west poker game These women were all country bred And I'm sure if they were able They would have had their shotguns Within arms reach of the table They filled my heart with terror I felt like a cornered roach And these women gave more signals Than a top grade baseball coach Their cheating was so open And to this startled lad It appeared a fine example Of semaphore gone mad They would stroke their hair or pull their ear Or gently rub their eye While their faces wore angelic looks As though they couldn't lie They would softly rub their elbow Or put knuckles to their chin While groping feet moved constantly To nudge their partner's shin And if they held the ace of hearts You'd see their right eye wink Or if perchance the ace of spades You'd see the left one blink It seemed they'd do most anything To make sure they'd succeed That table had more movement Than a cattle drive stampede They were masters of the art of mime And now I'm sure I know Who supplied the inspiration For the great Marcel Marceau They were all such perfect women When you met them on the street Just the finest type of lady You could ever wish to meet But when playing at their euchre They were heartless to the core It was not a place for 'ladies' It was all out bloody war If the cards they held were useless Their mutterings were wild And they often voiced such venom That it terrified this child When a lady played an errant card You'd hear her gasp for breath While the look upon her partner's face Almost threatened death They would often thump the table To push frustration back Their shrieks, and groans, and grimaces Put shivers down my back I've watched some 'creepy' movies But in my heart I know Those women put more fear in me Than any 'horror' show We hardly won a 'hand' that night My signals were mixed up I received some looks from grandma That made my toes curl up Though that all happened years ago My opinion hasn't changed I'm sure that all those women Were terribly deranged I received an education But it's one that makes me wince For it killed my love of euchre And I haven't played it since K.D. Abbott © 2007 |
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