I lived in Chorlton as a kid
near Busby’s rising stars –
we’d try to catch a glimpse of them
and bagsy their fast cars.
One summer evening cycling home
from dad’s allotment I
saw Georgie Best in his white Jag
and shirtsleeves driving by;
over the hill by Chorlton Baths
he swept, not hurriedly
and quickly disappeared from view
quite unaware of me.
I stood transfixed then looked around
for someone I could share
this moment with but I was all alone
except for birdsong in the air.