The Blood-Red Cue

The Blood-Red Cue - David E. Malone - Mar 16, 2002

Back in the days when the old Gods ruled amid ignorance and strife
A cue was built of sacred wood from a branch of the tree of life.
The ferrule was carved from the bone of a roc and the points were unicorn.
And the stain was made from the blood of a child who had died while being born.
The shaft was as straight as a willow wand and the tip was hard as stone,
It was leather cured from a Minotaur's hide before it was fully-grown.
There were runes upon the shoulder and the joint was silver chased
And the wrap was the silk from a golden worm with damask interlaced.
Some say it was built by one of the Gods. Some say a craftsman true.
But the maker gave his heart and soul in the birth of the blood-red cue.

I first saw the cue when money was tight and the pawnshop had some cues;
It was one of a parcel of Brunswick sticks that nobody else would use.
But I needed some cues to put on the rack... for the local bangers to try.
I was just about to throw this one out when the blood red caught my eye.
I cleaned it up with mineral oil and I could see that it was old
And something about the way it felt made me take a tighter hold...
No-one was there but the bartender Nat as I set-up a 9-ball rack
And I broke 'em up with a house-cue and then put the sucker back.
The first shot I played I felt this surge... like wild music in the night...
And my shaking hands were firm again and my eyes were clear and bright.
I ran that rack, and then again... I've never played so well.
That blood-red cue had come alive - just like a magic spell.
I took it home in trembling hands and late I pondered this...
Would my troubled conscience let me use a cue that couldn't miss?

Now I am old. I've had my time as the world's best billiard pro.
I never lost and rarely scratched, and I watched my legend grow.
But before I die I have this need to set the record straight.
My whole life has been a sham - you wouldn't want my fate.
I felt no pride when I took each prize, no pleasure when I won,
My conscience pricked me every time when I thought what I had done.
So I found a brat called Willie who was hard-up for a cue.
I figure there's not much an Italian kid with one bad eye could do...

And if you ever come across that enchanted blood-red pole,
I'll leave it to your judgment and the scruples of your soul.
Think of this my youthful friend, if my life you would repeat,
It ain't worth the fame and fortune... because you'll be a cheat.
I'm lying here in a feather bed - but still I cannot rest.
I'm haunted by this secret that weighs heavy on my chest.
And when I die, will I rest gentle in that hearse?
And is that ancient blood-red cue a blessing... or a curse?