This is one of the Types of Poetry. A poem about The Pin-Ball Player, one of the many residents of "The Red Robin" - a little collage bar.
The Pin-Ball Player
by
Richard A. McCullough
Nuzzling my lips against the foam that bubbles from the bottom with a hiss I watch
A black ebony bulb perched above a white stiff collar with and a shroud of tight black curls on top, leaning into the static skitter of lights upon the pinball board.
***
Expressionless, melting from fleshless features and yet a grin predominates, the bone of cheek and chin. He grins at nothing for himself and only the cooing cluck of pigeons to see him and the river is their sanctuary.
***
Almost safe upon the perch of rotted pilings, almost safe amongst the breadth of sucking foam green river, from little boys with rock-clutched hands to strike their gray glazed breasts.
