Henpecked

We were drinking in the Eagles Nest; a cozy little pub, one Friday evening after work completed in the scrub. Most of us are timber workers, who get paid on Friday night, so we’re all cashed up and thirsty in a setting that’s just right. There were six of us who formed a shout and mixed to socialize, and as the beers were going down, glassy turned our eyes. Tongues were loosening up a mite and too our rationale, and hints were being thrown about by master card sharp Karl. Karl’s the gambler we avoid he’d bet on two flies up a wall, but when we’ve had a skin full and Karl begs a poker call, fifty per cent will jump right in and claim themselves a seat, and the rest are easily convinced, for grog does hide defeat. So with Ron and John, plus Bill and Stan, I walk to Karl’s abode. We’re all carrying two six packs that we surely will unload, while we shuffle, deal and raise and show, or play a game of bluff, to find out whom at poker holds the nerves of stronger stuff. And as the night went deeper and the stubbies emptied out, some were holding piles of money and one was now without. Stan had squandered all his pay and now he looked a mite unstable, but then to top his bad night off - Stan drops dead at the table. At first we panicked seeing Stan but knew there’s nothing we could do, and seeing that we’re full of booze we only had a short review. It was suggested we should show respect now Stan has passed away. We stood up for the next three hands and thanked Stan for his pay. And when new dawn began to break, it was time to close the game, Karl was quick to put his hand on Stan and then he did proclaim, “One of youse walking home my friends must notify Stan’s wife. Who will it be?” But no hand rose and Karl felt he’s in strife. So it came down to drawing straws that Karl held in his hand. When I plucked me piece of straw I plucked the one I never planned. Karl stated I must be discreet, be gentle, and not to make things worse. With me virtue for discretion at Stanley’s door I did converse. Ums and Ahs were flowing freely ‘til at last me courage grew, “Your husband Stan has lost his pay now he’s frightened to face you.” She glared with eyes that proffered hate - “Tell the mongrel to drop dead!” So I uttered as I turned away - “I’ll go and tell Stan what you said.”