by Don Tidwell
The Boys at the Pool Hall
As I ambled in the meadow
I was startled, yet beguiled
To come across a full grown man
Behaving like a child.
He grasped within his bony hands
A rod of strange design;
One end possessed a crooked nub,
The other wrapped with twine.
He seemed totally committed
To beating up the ground;
He'd set his feet, tuck in his chin,
Then swing that rod around!!
The object of his wrath at first
Escaped my roving eye,
Then there before him on the ground,
I saw the reason why.
There, nestled on a tuft of grass
In perfect view of all,
Reposed a small round object,
A hard white shiny ball!!
Then I noted in the distance
That a patch had been mowed clean
With an eight foot flag protruding
From a cup within a green.
In a state of concentration
With swing both crisp and clean,
He struck that ball a mighty blow
To land upon the green.
In awe, I asked this swinger
As I hurried to catch up,
Why he tried so hard to hit the ball
Towards that little cup.
He glared at me disdainfully
And said "what kind of nut
Would dare to interrupt me
As I'm just about to putt??"
"It's clear you are no sportsman.
You must be some kind of fool,
Not to recognize the pastime
That we call Cowpasture Pool!!"
The seventh tee at Davis Park
Can tell a fishy tale
About a riding golf cart
Which took an errant trail.
With no one there to drive it
Or set the tricky brake,
The darn thing started rolling
And wound up in a lake ...
The golfers vainly chased it
From their spot upon the tee,
But a happy ending to this tale
There simply would not be.
The cart and all its contents
Took an unexpected bath ...
The rubberneckers chuckled
At the wet retrievers' wrath.
The golf pro came a running
When he heard this watery tale ...
He suggested compensation,
Or a token stay in jail!
But the dry (wet) goods were recovered,
Clubs and watch and wallet too,
And except for minor cussing
There was nothing else to do,
But continue hitting golf balls,
Chasing that elusive par ...
Two men riding, one now walking (wet)
Minus one electric car.
There's a moral to this story ...
There's a safety point to make:
When you park upon a hillside,
DON'T FORGET TO SET THE BRAKE!!
THE BOYS AT THE POOL HALL
I know a group of fellows
who meet most every day,
At the Geriatric Pool Hall
To eat and talk and play.
A finer group of aging gents
You'd never want to know,
Though some of them can't hardly hear,
and all of them are slow.
First off there's Mr. Stringham,
He's kinda like the boss ...
If you fail to feed the kitty, well,
It makes him kinda cross.
He shoots a fairly decent stick
But sometimes don't play fair ...
If you get your one ball by the hole,
He'll bang it out of there!
And then there's Ott, the Dutchman,
He walks around in pain..
His gimpy legs have let him down,
But yet he won't complain.
He plays the cueball low and hard,
It takes off like a rocket,
And skitters round the table
Til it ends up in a pocket ... "Scratch."
Up next is Michael Uzelac,
The Carbon County Kid;
He shoots most every other time,
Then wonders if he did!!
He never takes the time to aim
At balls he's trying to make ...
He's an inborn rabble rouser.
He always wants to break.
There's other guys like Bruce and Earl
And Wayne of many sticks ...
And even Chris who's played the game
Since eighteen eighty six.
They all enjoy the comradeship
And fun that's to be had,
Which proves that "Geriatric Pool"
Ain't really all that bad!!!
The players had assembled
At the Stringham Billiard Hall
To engage in competition
Using cue stick, chalk and ball.
There were Bruce and Ott and Marv and Paul,
Two Johns', Genieve and Earl;
There were Harvey, Howard, Henry,
Harm, and Harold, and some girl.
There were Charlie Jones, and Willard,
Even Bill and Slim were there;
And Bob, and" Chick the Chauffeur,"
With his head of silvery hair.
Then Bruce, who is "The Duffer"
Said "let's get things under way."
I'll play with Marv and Paul and Ott,
If I can have my say.
But Harold said "hold on a bit.
You know I'm number one ...
I once taught school, so I should say
Just how these things are done."
I'll be one, and Earl, you're two,
And Charlie, you be three ...
We'll flip a coin 'tween Paul and Ott
To see who four will be.
But Paul said, "uh uh", no, not so!!
Not now, or any day!!
"No youngster not as old as I
Can tell me where to play!!
Then Howard, 'ere the diplomat,
Said "this is what we'll do.
We'll all draw numbers from a hat,
To see who plays with who."
The bickering continued
Throughout the entire day,
Resulting in the cold hard fact
That no one got to play,
For Joyce descended on the scene
And said "I'm sorry boys,
But I'm closing down the pool hall
Cause You're Making Too Much Noise!!!
© 1953-2003 Don Tidwell
Brought to you by Poets Collective