Category: Love

Age 12, thought is warped by the maturity continuum
childhood vanishing, but evident
adulthood in the dressing room – yet to take the stage,
football, still legitimate anointer of kings and kingdom.
Sometimes the coach called us men –
but we knew he was appealing to something not yet present
boys, for a few years to come.
Our team had only one star,
two or three craftsmen,
the rest, tradesman-like,
but a champion team
bound for championship – until the final.

A team from the threadbare suburbs wins by two points
after a touchdown is disallowed
when the line umpire, a parent from the opposition,
signals our player stepped out, when he hadn’t.
Protests, but the referee is firm –
the flag was up,
he looks at the linesman, who nods. Closed. No appeal.

Back on the better suburbed part of town
we drank hurt, bewildered Cokes.
Our coach said he didn’t see
but sometimes people do the wrong thing, for the right reason.

He always had a smile
the warmest I ever encountered
warming not just the receiver
but the room
hard to believe he was an international sportsman – almost.

Before the epidemic of sponsorship
and annual world championships
it was the second most sought-after –
the Commonwealth Games
every four years – two after the Olympics.

He qualified as an endurance athlete but
the zeitgeist
the age of moustachioed mouthing sportsmen
back chatting and swearing –
enough,
the authorities strike back, sheriffs ride into town.
A driver ignores the road closure
causing him to break stride, pace, concentration,
a two-handed tattoo on roof and
locker room synopsis of birthright and intellect.
At the finish line, the standard has been achieved –
congratulations – but, you’re wanted in the officials’ tent.

Poor behaviour, bad example, disrepute. DISQUALIFED.
Later, second thoughts –
he could go.
He said they hadn’t stood by him – the driver clearly transgressed –
the seconds important – vital –
tension high.
He said they’d let him down. He said “ no,”
he would have said it with a smile.

Mend it, bend it, shake it,
just a little bit
so the old song said
a nickelodeon knees up sound – catchy
and risqué
cajoling
just exactly what ?
The rules,
could I
mend them, bend them,
shake them …. more than just a little bit?

Persuasive,
and …… who would know?
I said, “ leave it with me,”
but
had pretty much decided ….. one for the Devil.

Fiona, Second Cook
didn’t say much, but saw a lot
walked past – didn’t even break step – “she’s a little backstabber,”
flies and ointment …
“ No…
sorry, I’ve thought about it … and can’t.”
Not better judgement
but politics of offence to own staff.
I thought the verdict harsh
and wrong.
Wrong – I was. She was a backstabber, clever, very clever –
a narrow escape.