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Kicking a ball against a wall – over and over and over. There was a big part of my childhood where this was my favourite pastime. I’d stand on the patio outside our family home in South Brent, I’d imagine that I was about to take a freekick in a big match, I’d whack the ball against the wall, watch it roll back to me and then repeat the exercise. I could spend hours this way and not get bored. In a way I think this captures something about the power of our imagination when we’re children because every time I kicked the ball I was really there, in the stadium, about to take the final kick. So here’s a poem about being a kid in the eighties, kicking a ball against a wall – over and over and over.

It all depends on me
This is the final kick
The crowd begins to roar
The atmosphere thick
With history and pride
I think of Bryan Robson
Beardsley and Lineker
It’s time to get this job done
The World cup in my hands
If I can pass this test
I step back and breathe in
Three lions on my chest
I hit it hard and true
The keeper has no chance
I lift my hands up high
And do a little dance
As my shot rolls back to greet me
Bouncing off the wall
I regain my composure
And focus on the ball
It all depends on me
This is the final kick
The crowd begins to roar
Then I hear a little click
The stadium dissolves
The back door opens wide
Mum tells me it’s time for lunch
And so I go inside

#ballvswall #spokenword #poetry

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