Chalk Eye

Thoreau lived uncelebrated

and nearly broke.

Genius is often disguised when it walks among us.

It often dies unnoticed, like Hank Williams, 

in the back of a 1952 Cadillac.

My old honcho, Chalk Eye,

cobalt blue eyes, long steely fingers, 

made his living hustling

 in juke joint pool halls.

He took me in saying,

“Kid, your next shot should

set up your next shot.

Never mistake bad play for bad luck.

Take a hangover to being served bad ice.”

Chalk Eye laughed, mostly at himself.

He drank too much.

He’d take your last dollar bet, then

give it back to you if he thought you needed it.

Like Thoreau, Chalk Eye preferred truth over money

That kind of pool player is rare.

That type of person is rarer.

Chalk Eye gave me Hank Williams.

Both were the rarest of all.

by: Greg Clary

First published in Sterling Clack Clack