September 28, 2008 at 4:08 pm (Dominic Alapat, Poetry)


I wonder at the opening of the scene.

The dropping of a moment into place. 

First, the rain. Then, the shouts of the boys

running. The sky, and the boys falling into

the muck. Is there anything that could outdo this?

These voices carried down the years, the grass

still wet, the boys skidding in the rain?

Tell me reader, what plays out this moment,

slipping into which place, where?

Oh tell me so I can be there right now.

So I can kick this soccer ball passed

straight to me, past Johnny standing

at the goal-post. 


– Dominic Alapat


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