Scratched

by Liam Strong

Nuclear fusion is a type of reaction
in which two lighter atoms combine

to release energy. This, however, rarely happens
when I play billiards. Each florid particle

of phenolic resin banking off the turf.
Let’s get this straight: a bet is

a bet only after our hands become one
limb. There’s something about honesty lost

when my fingers straddle the cue
like a hunting rifle. I’m still not used

to handshakes. How all intimacy begins
at the wrist. How the balm of

our touch mingles like a proton
balancing an electron. These are

called elementary particles, schools
of thought watered down to

a ricochet. There’s a lot of us
in bars like this, hunkered into a circlet,

bouncing off each other’s shoulders,
around the ceramic of our frailty.

I can always drink to breaking
down what haunts us most.

The heat mists up my glasses on winter
nights like this, but I can still see where

I’m aiming. I’m calling it. 8-ball,
left corner. I’m calling it. We’re stuck

in here, you, me, the green nuclei
of a lawn between

us. You always think I’m here
to win. You never think I’m here to be stuck,

but then again, I still owe you
$5 for last week, so what does that

say about combining your winnings,
my losses, all of me, drained like a battery,

with a trick shot? I’m calling it. We’ll be
here forever, and even if by accident

I sink your stripes,
it doesn’t mean I missed.

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