Voices on the Wind
Voices on Relaxation
by Wilda Morris
Between split shifts in the kitchen
Paul and I found a pool table
in the hospital basement.
He tried to teach me
how to stand, how to picture
my shot and aim. I always lost.
In prayers I pleaded for Paul
to invite me to prom. Did he think
I looked like Minnesota Fats, or was it
that I had no clue how to use that cue stick?
My break shots always missed the mark.
I never put him in my pocket, never sent him
caroming. There were no kiss shots.