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The unfairness of it all

Peter Goulding

Sunday, December 2nd, 2007

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Stiff-legged, I shuffle by the green
And hear the tousled voices yell
And bounce upon the trampoline
‘Pon which all youngsters seem to dwell.
I pause awhile to watch them play
And rest my shopping on the kerb
And gaze upon the riotous fray
That these old eyes could ne’er disturb.
“Mister, stop the ball!” The cry
Pervades my sense but cautiously,
Just as the speeding ball shoots by
At least two yards away from me.
Comes running hard a sweaty child
Say, eight years old or maybe nine,
And as he nears, his black hair wild,
His eyes glance up and clash with mine.
“You should’ve stopped the ball, old fool!”
The glance comes lashing like a whip
And tears a strip of ridicule
With well-delivered marksmanship.
I want to grab his shoulders slim
And shake him like a wispy tree
And tell him I was once like him
And one day he will be like me.
But no, I stoop down to the road
With groaning hip and aching arm
And carefully retrieve my load
Which cuts a wrinkle in my palm.

© Peter Goulding 2nd December 2007

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/the-unfairness-of-it-all/