Thursday Afternoons

Gran got her hair done on Thursdays
over at Paulette’s at Morgantown,
while Papaw and me
escaped to the pool hall
there on the square
next to the Catfish Shack.

I crawled up on the stool
in front of the big old heavy bar.
and ordered my usual,
a cherry coke with crushed ice,
and Papaw stood
in the back by the spit-can.

I watched him pick out a stick
and check to see if it was straight.
He pulled the balls from their pockets
and arranged them just so,
tight in the rack.
and right on the spot.

I held my breath ‘til he broke—
the bright colors scattered
and smacked and cracked
and ricocheted off each other.
He lined up the shots
and down the balls went.

I loved to watch him
‘cause he didn’t miss a lick.
The other men would spit and nod
or shake their heads
and his trembling hands
were steady.

Then Gran pulled up
in her big granny car.
Papaw and I walked out,
squinting in the sun.
He handed me a quarter
‘Cause I was his girl.