Once upon
a Birmingham day, St Andrew’s
called the three of us together,
my Grandfather’s hand on one side
my father’s on the other,
two larger than life men
and a child, barely able to reason,
once upon a Birmingham day,
I peered through the gap
created by the outline stance
of two men and saw a game commence,
squeezed and pushed
with the flow of rhetoric,
community singing and language
unheard even in the finest
of hours, the colours,
displayed, rejoiced, groaned at
corner kick give away
here on this once upon a Birmingham day,
suddenly let go, a tidal wave of freedom
as a goal is scored and the roar
of that 1975 crowd echoes loudly in my memory,
the most deafening sound of loyalty and happiness
captured in my young, tender, hands free brain,
arms in the air surrounding me,
air that was Blue, now in uproar,
the quick fire fad and succession of a ball
rolling to a full stop behind the line
was all that it took to get the spectators
on the sidelines
of this ancient civil war to cheer and jeer
in numbers so large;
without a mace, longbow arrow,
the chinks in the armour became apparent,
and on this once upon a Birmingham day
I was captured by the enemy,
as I felt sorry for the away day Blue.
Ian D. Hall 2017