Post 101


In the olden days,
my favorite time
to hit the bars
was Saturday night
ten o’clock p.m.

Black boots
Black jeans
Some top
Red lipstick
Good enough

Nora and I
We’d go

I didn’t drink
We just talked

Couldn’t drink
Still can’t.
(Goes to my head)
Just pop.

Nachos with cheese
Bottle on the side
Orange pop
Guacamole, sour cream
I’m set

Good music

(Don’t play it for me now
Can’t turn back the clock)

Good tunes

Pure bliss
For me
Back then

Can’t remember
Did Nora have a beer?

Maybe just one.
(We were both broke.)

She might have.
Maybe just one.

Sometimes we’d change it up.
Go for a walk.

Look at the houses
Out loud

One day
I’m going to live in a house
Big house like that
Fill it with kids
Of my own

Hey, how many do you want?
Even back then

We didn’t agree
I was pro-life
Best friend, well, she wasn’t.
Still isn’t.

Hard topic.
Let’s not
Go there

But anyway,

Where was I?

Sometimes we’d stroll.
Talk about men.

But mostly,
about everything else.

Still, on Saturday nights
It was nice to be out

Lots of people

Sometimes some pool

I liked that

I wasn’t half bad
For a girl

But not entirely amazing
Or anything like that

But we played anyhow

The tables were usually full
You’d take a loonie
Smack it on the edge of the table
(A challenge, you see.)

It meant two ladies
Were wanting your table
To themselves

Your pool table
We were eyeing
Not you

Not usually
Though there was that one time

Glint of a ring
Engineer’s ring
Caught my eye

(Always did go
For the smart-thinkin’ kind)

Yeah, he was moderately clever
but not in that way
More in the fraud style
He knew the symbol
But didn’t do the degree

Not even close

Lucky for me though
He preferred my friend

But anyway,

Where was I?

Ah yes,
I was at the pool table

There were two funny things

I discovered about pool

Amuses me still

The first thing is how
The worse you are
The better it gets for you
And the worse it gets for them

Another tale of reversal
Surprise yet again

Let me explain

They pick off their balls
Shoot them off the table

And yours just remain

You can’t aim
Quite as well
You can’t play
Quite like them

So soon the game’s harder
For them
Soon the game’s easier
For you

(We never met a pro,
you’ll agree.
Hard to meet anyone
good enough
at the local bar, see.

Ah –

Ladies, take note.
True gentlemen aren’t there
For the most part.)

But anyway,

Where was I?

Ah yes.

Clear view
Of your own game
(Their balls are gone
‘cept their trapped ones

Encircled by yours
Your slow ones
The-Don’t-budge-me-I-won’t-“go” ones
The-Don’t-push-me-I-ain’t-yours ones
The-Don’t-think-I’m-gonna-cause-I-won’t ones)

Not anytime soon

Do I know you?
Because clearly,
You don’t know me.

Remove the hands, please.

Kind of funny I must say

But frustrating for them

I guess.

But really,
What made them think
I’d be so easy
on them?

The second funny thing
Was the way
Those drunkards
Overestimated their aim

They thought they were hot
But they’d had some beers
Some rum and some coke
Vodka perhaps?

Our heads were clear
Their sticks wobbled and veered
I had only drank pop
And maybe Nora had a beer

The advantage was ours

And soon the table was too.

Nice shot.

Your turn.