And under all weather conditions. Two by two we marched, under the watchful Kellys’ eye. Comb over and all. Boys for the football, no change, no kit. Our Football Boots were all that we needed.
On green grassy field we played the game. In that urban park, planted in the middle of nowhere. We were about nine years old.
Once when walking I heard my first shaggy dog story, told by my marching partner, Adrian Tams. It involves a mouse and a two tone white number seventeen London Transport double decker bus. I listened and remembered the whole story, for all the twenty one minutes it took to tell.
Adrian was killed nine years later, crushed under his car whilst fixing a fault, when it collapsed off the jack.
I have myself on the end of a stick,
Not at the end of my tether you understand.
Oh no just a pictures’ width.
I have learned to glide and glance.
That’s how it’s done I’m told.
In the here and now this is a great idea.
Having something to say helps.
Though every picture may well tell a story,
Where do you find the context?
Is it in gesture or word?
Is it on seeing or saying?
Watching then discussion,
Is it not both or more?
I see myself at the end of my stick,
The question now is
Should I dare to click?
Copyright 2020 Christopher Thompson All rights reserved.