Albert Ran the Tables One Night

By Danny   

Plush green sleeved tabletop,
concealing the universe like a shoplifter with a television set.
Across the table is a wild maestro with his hair exploding
around his head. Some people call him God when he wields a pool cue.
He stands next to an imaginary chalk board where equations are written and
re-written, computations about mass, density, quantum irregularities and abstract
theoretical mathematics that make my head spin with more English than his last shot.

The room echoes with miniature bangs; implosions of cue ball on solids or stripes.
Puffs of tobacco smoke and blue chalk intermix with baby powder and kinetic energy, while he just laughs and scratches his mustache as the counters above his head shift in his favor.
I can hear him mutter something about Newton, natural phenomenon and E=MC something or other as he moves across the table to his next shot.

His opponents fall all night long, some are lassoed by a cosmic string,
while others watch as Albert makes a run on the tabletop as if he is moving in slow motion.

And I just hand over the last dead president in my wallet.

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