Dear Willie,
If I may be so bold, it seems to me that this poem I wrote would make a great country song and NO ONE could sing it as well as you. So... check it out.
Mickey and the Wild Eight
by Ace Toscano
Don't play with little Mickey,
That pleasant Irish lad -
He's got a charming way of talking,
But his coping skills are bad.
I bumped into him at Chalkie's
Just the other day.
He offered me the wild eight.
I shot back, "Sure, let's play."
refrain
Stroke, stroke-stroke, stroke thru the ball.
Stroke, stroke-stroke, stroke thru the ball.
Keep your head down till the balls stop rollin' 'round.
And stroke, stroke-stroke, stroke thru the ball.
When he fell behind three to one,
He swore the table was at fault.
So we moved from two to three
Where I continued my assault.
Determined to expose me
To all his sharking tricks,
He vacationed to the men's room
Then moved the game to table six.
refrain
If you're seeking the worst table,
Table six is it.
It's just inside the entrance
And there's no safe place to sit.
Foot traffic rumbles back and forth
Through the ever-swinging door.
And everybody stops to chat,
"Who's winning?" "What's the score?"
refrain
Down two sets and dying,
Mick's attitude got meaner.
Then he choked as I hopped up -
T'was a concession misdemeanor.
He called me on it - I owned up
And offered him the game.
But, he kept on losing,
So, of course, my sharking was to blame.
refrain
Play ended with me three sets up,
But he only paid me two.
Next time he offers the wild eight,
I'll tell the lad, "Go screw!"
© Ace Toscano 2005
Best always,
Ace
