Refusal of Light

By Andrew R. Duckworth

I hear it will become dark,
That the sun will refuse
To give off its light.

The last time I played pool
It was years ago.
I imagine I’m still as bad now
As I was back then,
There was no strategy in my moves
Other than not to go for the 8
Until my others were knocked out.
My opponent-calculated, careful,
Precise.
Precise…
His eyes were fixed,
Breathing controlled.
I noticed and realized
Shortly after the balls broke
That I had been defeated
Before the game was over,
When it was barely begun.

The sky will become dark,
Like civil twilight
And most will be amazed
As the sun will refuse
To give off its light.

I wasn’t afraid
Of the dark as a child.
I was afraid of the feeling
The dark would bring-
Emptiness, loneliness,
Disorientation-mystery.
So, from room to room at night,
I would turn on a light.

I’ve been told
That a skilled player
Will know their moves
Just after the balls are broken,
Will see the angles on the table
And play accordingly.
I admire this
And despise it all at once.
I don’t have that sort
Of foresight,
The sort that screams “danger”
Several moves ahead.

Just look at those shapes
Pouring down
From the Japanese maple.
Weird and wild crescents.
Little Cs as the sea weeps
And the dogs howl
And the crickets chirp
And the light is gone.