During my college years, I worked as a pool hall attendant. The job allowed me to complete my school work while getting paid, but it also offered a glimpse into an elusive lifestyle. I learned a lot about the gambling scene working in that environment, and I even become a pretty decent shooter myself. For over three years, I was a college student by day, and a pool hall girl at night. I met my fair share of pool sharks and hustlers- all of whom were generous, respectful, and well-educated people. Yet, there was one particular player who was neither of these things. Unfortunately, he was also one of the best 9-ball shooters I have ever met. What he lacked in modesty, couth, and courtesy, he made up for with talent. One day, as I sat and watched him run table after table (and bragging about how his game was unmatched), I began to write...
He’s a true player, doesn’t care to lose
that’s part of the game.
No amount of money can shatter his pocket.
But he’d still take your last dollar,
“Mercy is for the weak”
He’s the best in the room,
accurate-eyed wise mouth.
Self-flattery spews forth as consideration remains
upon a single cue.
He’s half-badger, half-shark,
the king of persuasion.
Makes a living off of other people’s failures,
fishes who take the bait.
Always willing to brag,
never can agree.
Last to compliment,
first to criticize.
He aims to please
But you can invest in his banks,
they usually pay out…
unless there’s something wrong with the table
or the chalk
or the spot
or the air-conditioning
or the hottie with the short skirt and lacy black panties.
He stinks of non-menthol cigarettes,
cheap coffee and expensive cologne.
His voice booms for attention,
kicks things to get noticed.
But how could you miss the attitude?
Don’t say it again...