This is a form poem called a sestina, which was assigned during the poetry unit in my CW class. If you know what a sestina is, skip ahead.
Basically, a sestina consists of six stanzas of six lines each, followed by an optional envoi of three lines. The complicated thing about this form is the noun at the end of each line. When writing a sestina, you must have six nouns, one each to end each of the six lines of the first stanza. The rest of the poem builds on that - number your first six lines 1-6. The next stanza must use the same six nouns at the end of its lines, but it must use them in this order: 6, 1, 5, 2, 4, 3. The third is 3, 6, 4, 1, 2, 5; the fourth 5, 3, 2, 6, 1, 4; the fifth 4, 5, 1, 3, 6, 2; and the sixth 2, 4, 6, 5, 3, 1. The envoi usually ends with 1, 3, 5 or 5, 3, 1, and the other three words are used in the lines somwhere. The poem is expected to make sense, so as you can guess, it's a little tough to do. Apart from this, there are no other guidelines. The poem is not expected to rhyme, and the lines can be any length.
If you understood that, enjoy. If you didn't, enjoy anyway.

Slice

Five women sit around a kitchen table
Laughing behind their cards
Hiding their faces
And their tears
Behind painted makeup masks
This is the life

The first chatters about her inane life
Her left palm flat against the table
The right touches her mask
Then reaches for her cards
The spades look like tears
to her; and the hand before her has no faces

The second hand is made only of faces
Pictures devoid of life
They bring Three only briny tears
Which fall unnoticed on the dark table
Her eyes remain on the cards
There is nothing dying behind those masks

Not like the masks
On the four others’ faces
The third drops her cards
She is full of life
And bends to retrieve them from under the table
In time to miss her neighbor’s tears

Number Four wipes away the tears
Tracing cracks in the first of her masks
Her fists clench under the table
As she looks around at the other faces
She’s got a great life
That’s what they’re whispering to their cards

The fifth busies herself with her own cards
She’s laughing through her tears
She knows it’s not great or terrible; it’s just life
She knows they are all sporting masks
The hidden faces
Can’t fool her at her own table

Pull the cards away from the masks
Chip tears from wooden faces
A slice of life around a kitchen table