Down

amongst the ground sharers,

the football’s sailing over half raised

hopes and nets, designed

to keep the homeless

leather marbles from entering the gardens

and hitting the post

of gnomes, glass

jaws agape as windows

are bounced and framed

as the cheer from the crowd

is passionately ironic, suitably

in time in the non-league homes

and in this field

of semi dreams

between Waterloo and affluent

Crosby lives a day remembered,

a smile between two rows of teeth,

between balls and crunching tackles,

no technology, part-time gestures

and rain soaking hood holding pies

and the welcome of Bovril,

a love’s lament on a Saturday,

a love rekindled

down

in the lower tiers.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018