Down at the Black Cat Lounge

Neon hum and cigarette miasma
where the Black Cat Lounge never sleeps.
Papaws slam dominoes like thunder against Formica,
Daddies chalk their cues, trash-talking their way around the table,
eight-ball prophets who call every move,
but never call home.
Teenage boys, huddled close in the glow of pinball machines,
hypnotized by the ding-ding-ding of flashing numbers,
a kind of applause for doing nothing except
play one more game, one more ball, one more bust,
until their pockets are empty.
In the back corner, a red-and-white, Mosrite, hollow body
stutters through Secret Agent Man,
its voice uncertain in the hands of a beginner.
Fingers fumble, learning secrets
that won’t come easy, that maybe never will.
Back home, Sister sparks a doobie,
off to the drive-in with eyes half-lidded, while
Kid Brother dabs some Old Spice and
combs his hair like Elvis for the Grange Hall dance,
wearing a swagger that he hasn’t yet earned.
Morning creeps in with a cold spaghetti sandwich,
ending a Friday night that never quite got going.
A pretty good life—mostly.
But if I don’t leave now,
I never will.

Greg Clary is a retired college professor who was born and raised in Turkey Creek, West Virginia. He now resides in the northern Appalachia Pennsylvania Wilds. His photographs have appeared in The Sun Magazine, Looking at Appalachia, Rattle, Hole in the Head Review, Pine Mt Sand & Gravel, Tiny Seed Journal, Watershed Journal, About Place, Change Seven, Appalachian Lit, and many more.His writing has been published in Rye Whiskey Review, The Bridge Literary Journal, Northern Appalachia Review, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Waccamaw Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, Trailer Park Quarterly, Black Shamrock Magazine, Rust Belt Review, and Tobeco. His book of photographs and poetry, “The Vandalia in Me,” was published by Meraki Press in 2024. He is co-author of Piercing the Veil: Appalachian Visions (2020).