We are approaching rugby union season in those Southern Hemisphere countries that partake in this particular form of sport. The Black Ferns, New Zealand Women’s side, has had remarkable success winning five of the past six World Cups. The male team, the All Blacks, are an ok side too.
I wrote these poems while watching a game of rugby at Sky Stadium (it was called Westpac Stadium at the time). We had cheap seats in the nose bleed section, and there was a guy behind us who basically screamed instructions to both teams all game! From what I recall the Sprinkboks (South Africa) beat the All Blacks that night.
So you are getting two sports themed poems today. #winning
It's only a game The heave a rush Bodies pressed against each other meaningless passion Collision territory gained and lost colours fly high, a testament to consumerism, corporatisation And I am amongst it trying to decode meaning hidden in the testosterone and malice this Friday night. Projections All the things he said to you, those barbed compliments, dangled as if you could ever win his approval. The combinations you think they should play. The weaknesses in their side, your side. The empty plays that are eating you alive. And you are here now with your flag flying high believing that you can shout the winning combination from the noise bleed section- to the losing team on the field and to the little boy inside your head.
Angele Toomey Poetry 