il y a
1 min
Tables of stone, smooth as glass;
covered in felt, green as grass.
I rack the balls, and prepare to break;
with extended hand, and elongated stake.
There sits the cue ball, ivory white;
a circle among green, in the dim light.
I hit it hard, hard as can be;
none are pocketed, none but fourteen.
Stripes! I yell, and stake my claim;
as all glance at me with disdain.
One by one, the balls fall in;
whats wrong with talent? Its not a sin.
One ball left, blacker than onyx;
like one cornered, trapped like a fox.
I announce loudly, Pocket, corner left!
They grimace, and grumble, Were not deaf.
I take my stance, and move the stick;
as 8 goes in, with a soft click.
The game is over, over and done,
I played the game well, played well, and won.

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