A medical crisis at the card game.
Card sharks drank gin and tonic
at Frankie’s place in Geauga;
red-faced men with stubble for
daytime poker, a meeting indeed.
Icy stares, cigar smoke, salami--
open windows allowed April to
push fresh zephyrs past each chap.
Until, much like a teetering plateau,
Lars Underwood seized his chest, fell
moaning, face first, off his chair. Jim
oohed in restive shock; others did too.
Near the hutch, Lars lay sans motion.
Alex Green dialed 911, a phone plea
reaching via microwave (cell chatter.)
Yesterday pales to gadgets of today.
Reacting on instinct, Jim hit the floor,
energetic as rapid pulse adrenaline.
Striking hard with fist, Jim hit Lars
under the sternum, (as per CPR milieu),
swaying back and forth in eagerness.
Crisis minded, far from staid or stoic,
immediate was Jim’s determined tempi.
Time ticked anew for Lars, the heart
again in sinus rhythm--life’s arena.
The paramedics came, did their part;
(I know life can have varied termini,)
or ways extended by reactions so...
negating death with swift intervention.