A Poker Poem

I think that I shall never love
A play as much as the all-in shove.
When I just smile and hitch my belt
And take myself down to the felt,
Then lean back, say something funny,
Like, “Call this if you don’t like money.”
My opponent weighs my expression bland:
How much does he like his hand?
The mound of chips that I have risen
Puts him to a hard decision.
Unless he is very bold
Or has the nuts, he has to fold.
As the chips fall and scatter
I know position does not matter.
And shoving in those gravid stacks
From now on I can relax
(No one can do worse, you see,
Then what I have just done to me).
Luck is made by God above;
But it takes some balls to call a shove.