Pool

Annette, this is another “four letter word,” which came about as I teach my grandson how to play pool.

The break broke balls across the table, solids and stripes
Ricocheting like atoms, the smallest measure of my
Childhood, thwacking together. The cue slides smooth
On a bridge of practice. Father molds my hand into a more
Stable structure by planting the heel of my palm on the slate
And hooking my forefinger around the cue. I hold my breath,
Leaning my young body across the green baize like an offering
To physics or geometry or father's particular curiosities. The
Billiard light buzzes over the table. Lessons are accidental as
The balls smack, kiss and careen against the rails. For every
Action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Father runs the
Table, shooting straight shots, angled shots, bank shots. Energy is
Kinetic, transferring from ball to ball, from him to me. I pocket
Where I aim, hitting the sweet spot. It's all in the follow-through.