General   (General discussion, talk about anything.)

THE KIRKDALE STEPS/HOME


Flat-capped now,
and a century has gone.
But I remember going home in the half-dark.
Across the derelict end of the street
and across Stanley Park.
A ritual it became,
the teatime return
and the losing game.
We were fewer then:
the old gold and black,
scattered around in that famous old ground.
We ran, one year,
running the gauntlet from the hob-nailed boots
and the shaved heads of the Liverpool boys.
Through the Valley of the Brave, we walked-
until outnumbered - we charged down the hill-
seeking the streets, now lit like beacons,
to the sanctuary across the bridge.
But safety embraced us on the Kirkdale steps-
looking out on the sprawl of the Mersey night,
the October sun setting in the west,
and the lights of the train that took us safely home.

HOME


Home:
a football pink
points out
what went wrong.
Cheated again.
Just like the last time.
And the time before.
And the time before
that...


Jarvo 2023