we played pool in the basement
for hours
knowing the sun was still cold
and the only heat
came from the friction
of an eight ball on green velvet
ball on green,
as i sipped at cream soda
i started drinking at eight
in morning
the grocery store was out,
and you only offered your slime
still-
i re-racked the balls
sent the cue ball flying
all ninety-three pounds of me
down the table
you always enjoyed my self-
destruct speeds, hoping
one ball would pocket in pocket
and one would crash to the floor
of the damp and dirty
basement
the next bottle was white liquid,
like watered down milk,
not from my lifeless chest,
but from some fancy machine
and bald beer-men
only in it for the money
and i would have finished it too,
if someone hadn't spit out,
'they don't have basements,
in the south'
Author notes
there really is a little dash of hope in this- somewhere
....
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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I know nothing about pool, but I like the poem. And I also really like cream soda. Alot. Now I want some... lucky beeotch. lucky talent.
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I love you.
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Aww, I love you too.
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