Friday 3 November 2023


I went to a 21st birthday last weekend, it was held in a pub and the rugby was on, needless to say the majority of the people present were transfixed by the match. I wasn't, sadly I know nothing about rugby and am happy to be ignorant. It did, however, inspire this week's poem.

for whatever reason I am in a pub

the rugby is on

its a mystery to me

who doesn’t know what off side means

and has little interest in finding out

so I watch the men

watch the ball move

who sigh shake their heads

or punch the air in triumph

high five their neighbours

its all dynamic kinetic

so so serious

and I am am imposter

back in the schoolyard

the last to be picked

As you can see the outcome is me being rubber banded back to school days and that feeling of exclusion, when you're the last to be chosen for a football game. I wrote the first draft at the time. When the muse whispers, you listen and write.
Here's an old song by A. C. Marias that I'd almost forgotten about. There's a timelessness about it, even though the images are early 80's, One of Our Girls Is Missing.
Until next time.

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