Half time (Week 7)

Storms blindfold themselves

Over the roof of the stadium

At the edge of half time

Letting the wrappers

Mingle with rusted cans

At the edge of the pitch,

Casting a spell

Like a self portrait

Done backwards

Before leaking out

Firstly over our shoes

Then our pants,

Leaving nothing

But the cans

Glowing in the sky

Shaking in

A ordered stage fright

At the eye of the storm

Close to the point

Of collapsing

Into a barrel of laughs.

(Week 7 asked for a sports themed poem. This is a memory of going to watch a local football (soccer for people in the states) team called Rochdale where it got very windy at half time indeed)