In my misspent, wasted youth
Sitting, profiling, in a pool hall
Hard eyes looking tough to fit in
Often skipped days of school
Had no time for education
In a city in Massachusetts.
Inhaling a Lucky Strike cigarette
Exhaling smoky circles in the air
Unfiltered, only manly way to go,
Greaser haircut, thought I was cool,
Thought I was super tough.
Cue ball breaking a rack to pieces,
Clatter of numbered balls before
Speeding all over the pool table
Bouncing off the banks
Thudding sounds erupting
Some high and low balls
falling into the table pockets.
Cigarettes thrown in spittoons
Hissing sounds when hitting the water
Guys swearing over missed shots
Losing serious betting money
Some gangsters in the making.
Like Lucky Hall, 6’6” lean machine
Gangster mean and crazy
Always dressed in black.
Stuck a gun in my face,
Me sitting casually in a chair
Pool stick in hand, unconcerned
Guns rarely seen back then.
Reached for it, “Is that real?” I said.
Not out of bravely was I unafraid
Couldn’t believe the gun was real.
My nonchalance didn’t get intended result
Lucky was looking for, he turned away,
His black trench coat swirling in the air
Looking gangster cool and real deal.
Two years later Lucky’s luck ran out.
Shot to death in faraway Alabama.
Probably put his gun in the wrong guy’s face.
Bob Boyd
