|

Poems tagged ‘Holte End’

Evening Kick-Offs

Ray Miller

Thursday, August 13th, 2020

My father never watched me play football
so at night I contrived to be both
myself on the pitch and him in the stand –
an early exponent of simulation.

From up on The Holte the game unfolds
in flooded light; in the wings silhouetted
masses, punctuated by cigarette flashes.

As I seize upon a loose ball, he’d notice
that possession accrued by chance and not endeavour.
I’m the creative playmaker behind the strikers:
tackling is for the lesser gifted
water-carriers and workers.

Stifling the echoes of yesterday’s quarrels
I play a quick one-two with an accomplice.
I’m equally accomplished with either foot,
the upshot of solitary childhood pursuits
that ruined the lawn in our back garden.
Through the defence I slalom
with feints and drops of the shoulder;
I’m nearing the penalty area
with only the last man to beat.

Then the holes appear around my feet,
dark and deep as graves. I put on the brakes,
afraid what they contain, the ball rolls tamely
into the keeper’s arms.

He used to say I was lacking
in perseverance and focus;
but I replayed this fixture
every night for five years.

Be the first to leave a comment »

Source: http://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/holte-end/