Poem-- Eight Ball, Corner Pocket

* I wrote this poem in the Fall of 2008. It was later published in MSU's literary publication "Read This".


Eight Ball, Corner Pocket


A moment
gonna come.

In the dark damp of that sexy room,
I’m hunched over the velvety bed,
all the weight on my arms
like Atlas illuminated in low lights.
Remove my quivers
steady Apollo.
Make me a straight-shooter.
My fingers wrapped around this soft trigger
as Paris holds his bow.

A moment
gonna come.

I know the moment.
It’s the neon lights that line Main Street,
it’s the Jazz and Blues that come from the halls,
it’s the cigar smoke that wafts about the parlor
held close by the ceiling
like incense in the cathedral.

The moment is captured in that Pompeian ash
the men tap from their cigars
to separate wheat from chaff
and let their embers glow
perpetual.
Eternal.
Long, deep, pull—
Long, deep, blow.
Long, deep, pull—
Long, deep, blow.

Don’t let the moment be spoiled
by no hard breath
and no quick thrust.
That sunset strawberry is firm in my hands
and I anticipate its juice on my lips.
The moment
gonna come.

Let the moment hang.
Let the pendulum swing—
let the pendulum swing—
let the pendulum swing—
swing.

-Klok- The cue ball entices the eight into that deep romantic chasm.

A moment came.
Another moment
gonna come.