they were playing snooker
forever
and ever
getting nowhere
doing nothing
waiting, i think, until everyone watching was dead
or at least dying
crying
and something else that rhymes with crying and dying
and once everyone was dead they would put down their cues
and sweep the balls aside
and lay down on the table and hold each tenderly
tentatively
more nervous now than any possible scenario of points and frames and the scattered spread of the reds could ever inflict
was this love
they wondered
or loneliness
or something inbetween
something new
and necessary
and more beautiful than john virgo could ever be allowed to witness
