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Andy Lockett

Saturday, January 10th, 2009

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Turn left; floodlight pylons to the sky, as the wind blows
You back the way you came. Winter harshness at your
Cheeks, but it’s nothing as you reach the narrow brick
Opening – push, release, through the old turnstile. You
Missed the kick off, but you were inside. At home, at last.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Up the steep, narrow steps to the top of the bank, and
The crush – wet, humid, smelly, but it’s yours; all yours.
Ages gone, ages ago it all happened. So it seems today.
Was it really that different, or just a selective rejection of
The aggro, the choking smoke, and the many missed goals.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 And it was the same (more or less) at forty six grounds
Every Saturday, come the fifteenth hour. No snobbish
Exclusivity, no dismissive labelling; equality on a pools
Coupon. So you left one home for another, all the back
Streets alike. A local team, with local pride. Win or lose.

© Andy Lockett 2009

Notes

Your home – and mine, fortysomethings.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/home-2/