Cruciballs
There’s a breathless hush in the Crucible,
A racing baize and the black to win,
To miss that red was inexcusable –
His hand was shaking – too much gin ?
The “Hurricane” is blown away,
We will not see his like today,
But Hendry, Higgins, Doherty
Williams, Selby, Ding Junhui
Are hoping for that one-four-seven,
The perfect snooker, shot from heaven.
The prize at stake is filthy lucre;
To fans this is the World of Snooker,
A game that’s played in clubs and halls –
But for some, a load of balls !
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
