by Charles Shores
I saw your tag today on a passing train
Images of the inner city called to me in sheets
of Pool Hall Memories.
They say that you fucked them all
you on the pool table
They say you made the green felt
Wet and Red.
I loved you from afar distance then
in a teen age sorta way
Now the paper says you washed up dead.
No one knows how or why you died.
About this piece, Charles says, "I completed a collage when I arrived in Pocatello in July of 1917. Not all my art is uplifting. I think I try and reflect the whole of my human experience. So this work contains a poem over an image of myself about age 18. A friend of mine who is dead (died in Vietnam- he is on the wall), used to tell us stories when we were teenagers. The poem recounts one of the stories he told me when I was a young lad."
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