Lyrics
LOSING AT POOL:
Drunk, I shout
“I only excel at failure!”
Black cue goes down against
Hard, green covered slate
With a crack, putting a bullwhip
Into the chorus of East Saint Louis Toodle Loo
Playing on the juke box.
I am beguiled.
My opponent is a living dream
A distraction, constant,
Like a kid tugging at your shirt cuff
While you try to line up
An impossible kiss combo
Everything is falling apart.
Her hair done up,
With huge glasses, stylish,
Pierced eyebrows, chatty laugh,
And body built for burlesque,
I know there is no way I can win.
Except for my coat of grime and the light whiff of booze
Its like I’m not even there.
The ducks don’t drop, just go quack.
The cuts and combos, the banks and spot shots
All go bad, every click of the cue yields a scratch.
Soon, I am howling
And all is lost.
She coos to comfort me, out of polite interest
I, baleful, bashful, utterly broken;
Sip my drink, stew and stare, impossible odds,
Lost in darkness, furious fuck up
Fail to hear. Nothing registers.
I find a friend passing by and ask, like
A moron, if I know anything about pool;
Yeah, he says.
See! I shout, not even exultant.
Unable to summon anything else
Not enough pride left to fill a shot glass,
I make a hasty run for the door
Cue in case, mark of shame,
Already waiting to dream about the blonde
In the big glasses next to the green felt.
copyright 2002 by Seth Barkan
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