Winging It

by t t

St Mary’s College, Rathmines

Never the centre, always on the wing,
I spent those winter afternoons
just out of touch and fearful of the pass

that seldom came. All to the good:
those few times when I played scrumhalf,
flank forwards twice my size pummelled

my weedy frame into the mud,
leaving me for dead. How I hated all of it,
yet in my mind’s eye I was Kevin Flynn,

a sudden swerve, a blur of speed, then gone
into that world of light between the uprights.
His sleight and shimmer thrill me to this day.

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