The Hurricane
by Alain English

In the beginning there was a darkened room
Where white men with long staffs
Played on cold wooden slabs
Snooker - a dead game

Then, crashing through the doors
Blowing fresh life into the stale air
There breathed a bright white light -
A Hurricane had arrived

Bringing rainbow colours of red, yellow
Green, brown, blue, pink and black
He rode the baize like a horse and made it run -
The game had been reborn

He turned snooker into art
The table was his canvas, the balls were his colours
And his cue was his brush, his baton
He made the cueball dance and the table sing
And every frame, every glorious frame he played
Was a picture of pure genius

He had money, glory and loving family
Clinging to them like a liferaft
As he surfed on a tide of success
And a wave of alcohol

Alas, like a fool, he let it all go, consumed
Falling beneath the surface, till the tide
Spat him out on the sharp rocks of reality,
A shattered wreck

And in a darkened room where the light has dimmed
A gaunt, spectral spirit patrols a brown oak table
Shaped in his destiny
The form has gone but the spirit remains
Of the Hurricane