Without a Tell

Sure, she hobknobbed with the elite,
rubbed her mortal shoulders
with the rich or merely famous.

One tiny slip,
and Pandora dropped off the A list,
persona non anything.

She hasn’t been much of a yes-girl since,
but she can still bet on a gray day,
wind between her teeth.

She shuffles through history
and comes up as empty
as a gambler with a bad hand.

No face cards, no royal flush.
The suits she holds were printed
in rooms she has yet to unlock.