A poem for Matthew McConaughey

I imagine you
eating raspberry jam with your fingers,
transcribing whole scenes
from old episodes of Coronation Street,
collecting Pogs and Slammers.
We all have them,
little quirks no one knows about.
Do you have a favourite bench to cry on?
Are you a landscape jigsaw kind of guy,
or do you prefer puzzles with people?
You have the jaw of someone
who bites straight through a humbug.
I try not to read too many interviews with you.
The idea of you feeling out of place at work drinks
or not being a very good goalkeeper,
or stashing away Shirley Bassey vinyls
are things I want to hold on to.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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