Poem by Amanda Bell (Ireland)

Published in Issue 33 of The Ofi Press.

 ‘The beauty of the game’

is lost on me when I watch you play.

I see the curve of your cheek,

the rounded base of your skull

– once a custom-fit for my palm –

and feel again the warm weight of your incipience.

No more walnut-snug in my armour

your head now bobs around the pitch

and air shrieks with the thwack of

plastic against wood,

against bone.