The Number 38 To Annfield

By Kevin Graham

This article first appeared in Issue 7 which was published in March 2018.

The number 38 takes me past
White washed walls
Flaking red paint and rust of turnstiles

To catch a glimpse of the north terrace
Nicknamed “The Kop”
I stand on the bus seat
To see through a gap in the trees

The number 38 drops me with the crowd
Husbands whose duty is done
Hurrying from the city centre
To join fans already in

Some have paid an extra pound
Sitting in the seats from the old cinema
Waiting on the timeless matinee

The number 38 delivers me to counter culture
As I stand close to the back, watching
The Punks, the rockers, mods, skins
Would be Morrisseys, all sing
Buddy Holly songs
With a man and a guitar

The number 38 casts me in a bbc documentary
As the swap of ends at half time
Sees the fila trackies
Throwing never landing punches
Towards snapping crocodiles
And flapping eagles
As the home town bullies
Get chased by bigger town bullies
Who always have better trainers

The number 38 drives past
There is no crowds, no rusting turnstyles
Or a whitewashed wall

There is no matinee as time has expired
No need to stand on the bus seat
To see through the gap in the trees

It’s now only houses and not a home.   

This article first appeared in Issue 7 which was published in March 2018.

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