SHOOTING POOL WITH THE DEVIL

Of course he cheats,

but exactly how

I haven’t quite figured out.

Unless it’s by distraction,

‘cuz I’m not really sure

if that beautiful harlot

standing behind him

is real or merely an illusion.

He’s ordered the raucous music

turned up high

and the lights

turned down low,

so it’s rather dark in here,

with demon’s eyes glittering

all around me,

and the carpet squishing and slithering

beneath my feet,

and there’s an awful stench

of cigarette smoke.

Or maybe it’s sulphur.

There he goes again . . .

Shoots every ball into a pocket

without missing once.

“Rack ‘em up!” he barks.

“And I’ll give you another chance.”

What’s the use, I mutter.

But I break anyway,

and the eight ball

goes straight into the left corner pocket.

“You lose!” he screeches,

with a wicked gloat in his eyes.

Curse my damn luck, I mutter.

And the hooker cracks up.

Her cackling

makes my skin crawl.

Then, some demon racks up again,

and the cue stick in my hands catches fire.

CATS IN THE GARDEN

 They try to hide among the tiger lilies.

Good choice for an orange tabby.

I see their blinking eyes among the zinnias.

Or are they winking at me?

What sort of game is this?

A white cat crouches amid the narcissus,

But where does a black cat hide?

In the shadows.

He waits and watches,

Like a Bengal tiger.

And there he is,

The prince of pussycats,

As black as night,

Slinking his way through silky grass,

Down on his belly,

Then pouncing on some imaginary foe.

Up he springs,

Struting proudly

With his usual feline grace,

Strides along in regal possession.

And with one gravity-defying leap,

He’s bounded to the top of the wall,

Makes his exit like a tightrope walker,

Tail aloft,

And, without so much as a backward glance,

He vanishes,

Leaving the garden to his lesser brothers.

MY SECRET MUSE

The thought of the sweet radiance of your eyes

brings tears to mine and transports my soul

to regions unfathomed and unknown.

How do you know the secret magic that stirs my soul?

Did you learn it from a sorceress?

Or was your mother a goddess, your father a mere mortal?

Surely, you’ve been endowed by some high power

with a celestial fire, with something divine

granted only to those who can be trusted

with the secrets of the gods.

When I behold this in you I am more than a little in awe,

But I am resolved to remain silent

And let you wonder if you truly are my muse