ONLY THE ONES WHO KNOW, KNOW

Tommy Sig
took me
to the Roosevelt,
an ancient hotel
on Madison & 45th
one year when straight pool
was still king
& those who had nicknames
reigned: Stumpy, Wimpy,
Weepy, Miz, Jersey Red,
Cicero...
Sig was a great shooter
himself--what he could do
with one hand, I couldn't do
with two. He didn't want to
hear that: Great? No,
I ain't great, they're great,
they play two speeds under God,
but I know why they're great:
They see,
and they know,
and they are able to do.
Savage, he went on, you write
a good sentence, but you know
what a great sentence looks like,
and what went into it,
but you ain't part of that stratosphere.
I might be able to handle a stick,
but I can't chop down no fuckin forest.

We sat on some rickety chairs
in a balcony thick
with smoke & kibitzers
& watched as Miz was well into
running his third rack.
He has young legs,
Sig said, he's gonna take it.
And he did.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018