The Pair who used to Play Pool with the Pair who are Here

by Hugh McMillan

I’m thinking who they were, those no longer
here: that kindly northern English couple
who drove up country once a week, sipped

sherry and half pints and played, joking
in a saucy, innocent way. The pair still
here are playing pool but they are making

half the noise, having half the fun.
Life is like that, becomes through time
a re-enactment. Do you remember

that double, a red struck by error
that rocketed into the pocket, the laughter?
The shots that didn’t connect. Maybe small

things endure. I’m imagining in the half lit
space between dartboard and the drinkers’
bowed heads, they are still scoring the air.