By: Paloma Fernandez

What if
Green felt on pool tables
Was replaced with real grass
That kept growing taller and taller
Throughout the game
Until the grass reached into the trees
That surrounded the lake filled
With melted glaciers
And somehow friendly snakes
Watching your toes grip to smooth rocks
And hands grasping the thick rope
Which hasn’t showed signs of fraying?

But pool tables will never have
Lush green grass.
They will always remain
Dirty green felt with wood warped
From beer bottle stains
In unusual bars
On back dirt roads
With jukeboxes
Containing only country music
Where old men order another round
And no one shows up on karaoke night
And your thighs
Stick to leather booths
On hot summer nights
And the bartender stares at you as you laugh
At his awful jokes
But maybe
I’m distracting myself because
I don’t know how to play pool.

 

Paloma Fernandez is 15 years old and lives in San Fransico, California. She is currently in the Creative Writing department at Ruth Asawa School of the Arts. Since writing this poem she has indeed learned out to play pool.