Lagging for Break

by Con Chapman

The cool white ball rolls silently
   down to the bumper,
   then bounces back.


It glides to the place where
    I stroked it from.

 I lay down my dime
   to mark my spot
   on the green felt.

Your turn.


You do as I did, and as
   the cue ball rolls to a spot
   slightly inside of mine,
   there is silence in the pool hall,


   whether from boredom, or
   anticipation, or impatience,
   I don't know.

He who comes closest,
   goes first.

Three quarters drop in the soda
   machine, breaking the stillness.

Your break.