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Pool Hall
by Travis G Finborg
The slow smoky death of a black and white pool hall
hours of vodka and the smell of unfiltered ciggarettes
game after game racked, broke,
balls collide like busy pedestrians
the sun has never shined in these halls
a silent man with a loud haircut
crisply lines up shot after shot
he dances around the table
raises and slides his tan cuestick
back and forth in a sexual repetetiveness
the dusty shuffle of his feet
on worn red carpet permeates the air
a constant backdrop
to the occasional clack and clatter of billiard balls
11/21/2008 Posted on 11/22/2008
Copyright © 2026 Travis G Finborg
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 11/22/08 at 04:22 AM I can never get enough of those places. Or at least, the unending element of surprise. Great imagery, man. Especially in the opening. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 11/22/08 at 04:27 PM I'm with Paul. I'd love to see more of the characters that inhabit this place. You make it feel very real. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 11/25/08 at 01:16 AM Paints a vivid picture of a pool hall with implied characteristics of those who frequent such places. |
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