Thursday, August 21, 2003
Pool Cue
It wasn’t as if I were drunk -
yes I’d been drinking
but the night was still quite young
my first pint stood beside me still
and lo the moment I had dreaded
was at hand -
Greg turned to me and said
Your Game
I felt it forming in my future
germinating, vague, unformed,
but it was coming, that I knew
I took the pool stick, weakly broke,
and then the game began to crumble
Never mind that he’d professed
incompetence
the table told a different story:
five of my balls, one of his,
and eightboy winking in his darkness
I could feel the fates awaken
time to have a cosmic chuckle
I lined up a simple shot
and sank it sharply
economies of rest and motion
geometry and subtle action
“nice one” - and The Game began
The Real Game
the cue felt fluid in my hands
I felt a difference in my step
I kept on sharply, sweetly sinking
all my little stripy balls
the shorts weren’t hard, I played at best
with modest skill
but that’s much more than I’d shown up with
when I’d first picked up my cue
I sank my one remaining ball
(the 4, I think) with subtle grace
and left myself lined up for 8:
side pocket, just a little angle
I could almost see the patterns
seeping up from under felt
an unseen hand was guiding mine
and brought me to that sacred moment
when we are but cosmic toys
I loosed the shot, blissful release,
and cueball did as he was told
discretely shoulder-checked the 8
and sent it to the chosen pocket
there to sink as if in some
weed-choked sargasso
But do not be distracted
as the cueball keeps on rolling
drawing closer, ever closer
as if returning to a lover
glorious predestination
corner pocket yawning empty
extinguishes the white in blackness
Can’t you see how this is perfect
I have sunk the mighty 8-ball
scratched the cueball in the bargain
what you hear is heaven laughing
I have given Greg the game
that I had almost lost and won
by dint of some offense on high
I have been chosen as the punchline
Proudly I hand back the cue;
my role fulfilled,
I drink my beer.
