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Sunday, March 17, 2013

The Pool Hall



The Pool Hall
He said to me as the moon overhead
illuminated the cloudy silk sky,
“you’re not doing bad, just need some practice;
hold your stick here and get lower.”
Although it’s awkward and hurts my back.
Alice In Chains plays in the background
with the five cents he placed in the jukebox—
he wanted something special playing
as he smelled of Axe and takes my hand,
“stand like this and stay at this level,
place your hand here, it cradles the stick better,”
as I bend over the damn pool table—
I get really frustrated, I can’t do it,
“just be patient, you’re doing fine,” he’s my cheerleader.
He grabs me again and looks me in the eye,
my heart stops—
this game has lasted for way too long;
“how about we just hit these in.”

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