Game Over
On Saturdays at four o'clock
we headed for the shores of that park
creeping back across riddled pitches
to nylon studs applause
on changing room floors
where we gave post match interviews
to fathers who walked us home like champions
to a face flannel over my knees
the inspection and re-enactment of bruising
the results read out in black and white and
tell her how I played.
I ran across October afternoons
ahead of the sun's rays
along the precipice of a touchline
and never looked down.
We were stars
tomorrow waited like a substitute
with something to prove.
(Pub. in An Elastic Sky Oct. 2010) See film of poem here
Cut Down
Muriel's garden got too much
undergrowth overgrew
determined weeds tugged her to her knees
dandelions got the upper hand
she gave up, gave it to us
the day before we got the news.
At the bottom end
two young apple trees
blossom blown off them
arms out in the air
amazed as skeletons.
To the right a rockery
a row of broken stones
I'll grow some desert grasses there.
Beyond, a mottled lawn
a corridor sloping up to a wall
where the wind whips over
and the sun sets in your face
like a crushed orange.
I see you when the shadows are long
running out of your wigwam
firing a gun
at the corners of the dawn
plucking the hedge on the last day of leave.
The lilac will find you
when the wind comes
and the air is charged
with the sound of bees
I've put some roses in
too late for honeysuckle now.
Your father put something down
to kill the moss
the ground turned black.
He's going to dig a pond.
You will speak to me
as the water chatters
I want to plant, plant all the time
the earth is clean
I should be cutting down
but I can't.
At the back there's a shaded patch
I'll put some ferns in there
it looked green where you were.
Muriel heard about you on the news
she offered to take the garden back
I told her no.
(Pub. Acumen, Summer 2010) See profile on Litfest here