How Did You Get Me Again?
¶ 1
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How did you get me twice? Back on the field
I thought I had escaped your clutches, comments,
your dismissive shaking of the head.
¶ 2
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The frustrated Biology teacher helping with games,
telling us we were useless with a glance:
You got me then – now you’ve got me again.
¶ 3
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As a colleague, what’s your motivational speech?
‘Write down the profession you wanted as a child’;
a raised eyebrow when he saw ‘footballer’ for me.
¶ 4
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Yet I remember Mr Rooke’s report:
‘Combines pace and skill to very good effect’,
so you just didn’t like me mate
¶ 5
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with your whingeing Reading ways and opinions,
your bulging stomach and incredulous look:
‘With the best will in the world gentlemen,
¶ 6
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and I hate to say this, but you cannot let Mr Saynor
do that to you’ he said on the one occasion
I could train with the first team
¶ 7
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despite playing for the same club with them every week.
He got me once; now he’s done it again.
What is this bizarre universe
¶ 8
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that repeats its irrelevant lessons
and strange humiliations? Why do I have to sit with this fellow
whose judgement and opinion I so disrespect
¶ 9
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and go through the motions of politeness.
How do I get this off my chest?
I can’t say ‘I was really quite good; ask Mr Rooke.’
¶ 10
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‘Who have you played for since’ he would say,
the moaning Reading fan who moans at Reading fans,
sits in the same seat and groans at everyone he sees,
¶ 11
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manages the school team but stops supporters singing.
Who are you really? How did you get me again?
Adult protocols say ‘leave it to the past.’
¶ 12
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Try to make friends. You got me once;
I could leave it there – but now you’ve got me again!
¶ 13
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I sat next to him at Parents’ Evening;
‘Your son has the attention span of a dead newt.’
What an opening line; what a plan
¶ 14
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for survival from the child to be a newt,
deceased, to his Jeremy Clarkson,
his bullshit bluster, his empty lessons.
¶ 15
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He got me once, and he got me twice
after seventeen years in between;
now God forbid I meet him again.
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