I remember my first day
and the grey jumper of differing sizes
and snot stained cuffs
to which I was then tied throughout
my seven years at Moor Green
was one in which I met you
and forty years later I still
think you’re pretty cool.
We stood side by side in class
and in the playground, though I had further to travel
as we didn’t move to Selly Park
till the days when the Four Seasons
sang of a decade before and my first game against
The British oak may fill my head with images of sturdy reliability,
the sheer strength of will and powerful robustness
to ever bow to the pressure of a thousand muscular gales
or the clambering and kicking of a million children’s feet
as they laugh and swing off branches replete with green lush leaves;
is one that I try to emulate in my soul,
but I know I am more like my innocent favourite
that of the sprawling, myopic, maudlin, mysterious and disapproving
Willow tree.
I fell for the drooping wonder