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Fair weather to me is a bitter breeze,
high winds and a heavy squall,
ice patches on fourth generation
artificial surfaces, capillaries beaten red
in the air of a floodlit winter.
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New to harmonious, long standing friends,
well meaning as they ordered and cajoled,
my normal game was gone. No drifting
between the lines, quick bursts or goals,
just chasing around to fill the gaps
and win the tournament.
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Through to the final,
I’m surplus to requirements
now absent carriers of doubts
and distant weaknesses – past infirmities –
have found the WhatsApp group,
bantering and healed.