A Game Of Chance Poem by DONALD SCHUSTER

Above the flat green felt
where the thick blue smoke lingers
Watching,
The two fierce gladiators Glare
at the perfect roll of the
eight ball disappearing into the side pocket,
The nine is left
What did you say?
He's The Golden Cadillac.
Click as the nine rolls
powered by the long straight stick
smooth as a baby's face,
A game of chance?
No, you dummy
It's fifty a game.


Donald Schuster - ES Donald