• Pool Room in the Lions' Club

    W. S. Merwin

    Spring 1958

    I’m sure it must be still the same,
    Year after year, the faded room
    Upstairs out of the afternoon,
    The spidery hands, stalking and cautious
    Round and round the airless light,
    The few words like the dust settling
    Across the quiet, the shadows waiting
    Intent and still around the table
    For the ivory click, the sleeves stirring,
    Swirling the smoke, the hats circling
    Remote and hazy above the light,
    The board creaking, then hushed again.
    Trains from the sea-board rattle past,
    And from St. Louis and points west,
    But nothing changes their concern,
    Hurries or calls them. They must think
    The whole world is nothing more
    Than their gainless harmless pastime
    Of utter patience protectively
    Absorbed around one smooth table
    Safe in its ring of dusty light
    Where the real dark can never come.

    Read More

    Web Design and Development by Riverworks Marketing