Thursday, 17 April 2014

'the knock'

should have been your boy
back from the game
bag of fish and chips
grin as wide as the Mersey
drunk on youth and sunshine 
still living every pass shot tackle
as he settles down in front of the box
him and the old man each with a can
to watch it all over on Match Of The Day.

Instead, it was coppers
neighbours, friends, the sad-eyed priest
it was sorry for your loss
it was the space at the table
the silence, the empty room
it was the doctor giving pills to kill the pain
knowing nothing would ever bring him back again
it was your husband fallen in on himself 
it was grief you thought would end you.

And it was reporters hunting headlines
papers printing tales they knew were lies
it was official cover-ups and smears
it was the start of twenty-five years
of banging on the gates of justice
demanding the truth, an apology
for what they did to your boy 
and the other boys and the girls and the men
it was learning to walk on

knocking on the gates of justice
with the families knocking with you
and the clubs knocking with you
and a city knocking with you
and hope in your broken heart.



Steve loves words, loves people more, and enjoys poetry which makes him smile, or think, or want to man the barricades. When not standing behind a microphone or in front of an audience, he can often be found down the pub. He hopes you enjoy his work. If you do, check out his website. http://stevepottinger.co.u
http://stevepottinger.co.uk  twitter: @BigStevePoet

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