Shooed out of our homes
with sixpenny bribes
we feed fruit machines
on New Brighton Prom
as Germany score first.
Spid, twelve-year old opportunist,
steals a packet of ten cigarettes
after Mr Ellis, the shopkeeper, hears
‘Hurst, goal! one-all’ and wheels
away to watch in the back.
Behind park bushes the first
drag burns. I inhale; choke
out smoke. Two ciggies later
my eyes close as the world
starts to spin.
Communal roars greet
Hurst’s first extra time goal
as I race home
clammy-sticky and weak
up steep streets
through the door-on-the-latch
along the hall’s silk-shiny floor
past the living room
down into the kitchen
and reach the outside toilet
just in time to kneel
and throw up. In the background
Kenneth Wolstenholme exclaims
‘they think it’s all over’.
It is for me.
Paul Waring is a clinical psychologist who once designed menswear and was a singer/songwriter in several Liverpool bands. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming at Prole, Clear Poetry, The Open Mouse, Amaryllis, Three Drops from a Cauldron, Foxglove Journal, Rat’s Ass Review, Reach Poetry and many others. His blog is https://waringwords.wordpress.com