The Cerebral Catalyst

Last night I'm writing
and you hear that? Fucking phone
I'm mining some kind of gold here
tapping some anemic vein I had a start
but the ringing is reverb and it won't stop
dammit! Hello — oh it's you. You want to go out right now?
It's Mike — his new tattoo is healed up nipple-pink enough
so he dressed himself all up for stripping down
he's show-off ready so I tell him
alright already —
I had a start but his ass is hungry for party people booze music okay okay fine
I say you drive cause you owe me now you cost me
I had a start but we're going. To Echoes?
No — not there faggot — I can say that 'cuz we're friends
Echoes, where he makes himself into some kind of scene every time
puts on a show makes me queasy you know —
makes me sick but he's sayin' he'll get us a table
and pretty please again and I can't win
but man I know Echoes —
he only plays me pool cause it's a chance for him
to bend over do some acrobatic tricks with his stick he'll let his pants ride
low off his crack spread his new ink around and he stinks at pool anyway —
you hear he stinks — so I have to say no way, man —
won't shoot pool here with you but I can't win this argument he knows me too —
knows I have to — can't NOT play the game now we're here there's something —
clearly something —
in how my blood hears. It moves to the blue chalk the cuestick's shearing
force the arithmetic bullwhip of course I'll play 'cause I need to
solve that SOUND!
Tic-clickin' lip twitchin' knock and clatter of molasses shatter
and maybe tonight —
I shoot perfect can't say no I can't and he knows — the pool table and me
got mutual attraction humming I'm coming like slow
refrigerator drawn to a greasy cracked alphabet magnet
okay rack 'em up my friend — but see already he's pole dancing
his stick acting like his dick-dream of
being some unreachable star tonight he wants to teach these young stuck-up sluts
(who don't lately reach for his) a lesson see what they can't have too late you
hear too late now Echoes whores he's betting they think twice and
more drinks he wants them to feel his dick's reverb — but me?
I shoot pool
in a zone
stay out of my way
I work alone
my only rules...
And I HAD a start the balls were lining up right like rhyming like
they love to but my friend forgets the rules
he's a too fast drunk acting up needy punk clueless he's anxiety flirting
his wax clean ass lip-sync-loving faking a whole joy to the world orgasmic hug
even squeezing some little tranny hormone-titties giving away bargain
thrill smitten by his own pout-pucker asshole now HOW COME?
MAN!! ALL I ask —
We can't ever finish one game? It's why I fucking came
I had my shot lined up and it was a start —
he's all hands down my pants up in my shirt I
SCRATCH! man I scratched —
and that hurts
to lose it he blew my shot ripped
the green okay wanna dance with me play
a scene shit eating grin face come on then
open up to me I chalk up your teeth you chew
on blue eat my cue love my stick your balls AND dick going
in that corner pocket wanna bet I call your bluff?
You FUCK! fuck you — what?
...you hear that too?
Music just getting good — forgot what was I saying? Anyway I should
quit now while I'm ahead a few bucks and
he's had his own bad kind of luck at
Echoes him and me?
We can't seem to win but don't lose either
way he only threw up on my shoes —

______________________________________
Katharine Polenberg's poems have appeared online in Laura Hird's Showcase, Triptych Quarterly Fiction, Zygote in My Coffee, Thieves Jargon and Poor Mojo's Almanac(k), and forthcoming in Cherry Bleeds. She resembles a real person, living or dead. You can find more by visiting her at http://www.freewebs.com/outsiderartist/index.htm.

posted 01.22.07.

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