Evening, and there is nothing
To temp me indoors.
Warmed from a day spent in the sun;
I spin it on my fingertips,
Pass it, to my team-
Mates.
Scoring goals
Win rolls of respect. Talents
Swaying to the chants; that
Tribal-like victory dance.
Ball of mesmerising fire -
Football skills that inspire. Cool
Moves; dipping, diving,
Thriving, in the company,
Until friends slip away,
As they are called in -
One by one.
Alone, with a crimson sky;
The breath I take is sharp
Like loneliness,
As the night turns - flat.
https://poethead.wordpress.com/2015/08/29/the-last-fire-and-other-poems-by-helen-harrison
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