On Sunday Morning I go back down to dad’s house
To pick up my football kit. First I walk past
An emotional hole in the wall caused by a clash in
Personalities. Next I sip Aldi pineapple juice from the
Bottle and wish somebody would tell me to get a glass.
Memories of normality and that.
As per I have a forced conversation with the man of
The house. He probably tells me to play well in the
Match. I probably tell him to have a good day at work.
Walking up the stairs I can’t help but wish for something
Real. Even arguments and insults are better than just
Hallway pleasantries and that.
My room don’t shine like it used to. That much is obvious
To me. The bed is messier than before and the clothes are
Unfolded on the floor. A monument to my mother’s decision
Last year. As I throw my kit in the sports bag it’s as if I’m taking
Possessions from another man’s room. A man who’s long gone now
The result of change and that.
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