When I was seven or eight,
I was made to stand on one leg
for kicking my plimsoll
onto the school roof.
There’s the sticky crystalline tarmac of the playground,
WHOOSH my leg flies out,
SMACK of contact with the ball,
my plimsoll tumbling in-slow-motion-through-the-air,
disbelief when I realize
where its ended up.
if it happened today,
would my talent be spotted?
“Hey son, that’s some kick you’ve got on you
would you like to play for Liverpool?”
Instead of a teacher deciding
that standing on one leg outside his classroom for an hour
would be a good old lesson in self-control.
The shame did teach me -
to reign myself in,
hide my power
question my very existence,
never experience the ecstasy of releasing
my heart, soul and ***** into a woman.
I guess I can’t blame it all on that teacher,
they all got away with weird **** in those days,
– once a boy in my class was made to sit under the teacher’s desk
and called “Dog” for dog-earing a page in his book –
I wonder how that kid’s doing
Just for fun,
I stand on one leg,
wobble about a bit,
feel the power and joy
trapped in my chest,
the urge to run, leap
a thousand miles per hour
thunder through the stratosphere
screaming as loud as I possibly can
FLY YOU MOTHER F#CKING PLIMSOLL FLY!!!