When I was 17 years old

I met a woman in a hospital room

who told me she'd played pool

with Minnesota Fatts. She told me

about her ties to the mafia & how I had

to stay alive so I could wander down New York

streets that I now feel guilty for forgetting.

I never forgot her, or her son, who had once

played with Earth, Wind & Fire. Her son approached

me at the mall - happy to see me alive; his mother had

not been so lucky.

Now I sit at pool tables with a drink, watching others

play what the hospital woman once told me was a wonderful

way to unwind; a way to forget & remember & lose yourself

with no need of drugs, razors, or even friends. I sit here

& watch the players & have my drink, as I unwind & forget

& remember the woman & her last breath of kindness.

Here where the sharks are people of every smile &

shade of sorrow, I observe & am grateful to be alive &

to witness what no one else can understand about the bald

goth boy in the corner who smiles at the actions of strangers;

not for the sharks themselves, though they do amuse me,

but the game itself. It's beautiful really.

Only last night I watched a great white demon

of a man... a shark with the face of a god, who was

stone cold seriousness while aiming for a shot... You

should have seen this slip of perfection animating around

the table - with nothing but the outcome in mind. In between

shots he was all candy laughter smiles & warm blooded affections.

He said I was: Cute. Deep. Intriguing. Weird was good.

Of course people come looking for sharks here all the time;

they come to capture, ensnare; be devoured...

the sharks know this and are not impressed.

Maybe I'm a mystery to them because I'm not swimming

in these waters out of lust, boredom or hunger...

I'm simply swimming in the deep end of an ocean,

admiring something about sharks that no one can touch.

The momentous emotions that pass

between unblinking eyes

& unflinching hands;

between moisture flecked lips

& stedfast dancers legs.

A swipe of tongue...

A flicker...

A breath...

The glint of light overhead on numbered sphears as they

clash, glimmer, escape solidarity -

through the single deadly thrust of

the pool shark's decisive wooden lance.

The ghost of a shark lady smiles everytime that they play

& then I can smile too, while remembering her with me - as the world falls away.

- For Dug "the great white demon" -

& in memory of the hosptal woman.