Concentrate

I’m in a car park
behind a swimming pool
next to a thin-wired cage
surrounding an astro-turf football pitch.
Orange and blue hi-vis vests
stop running in circles
to the words of their coach:
What the fuck did I tell you on Saturday?
You’ve got to fucking concentrate
.
My son laughs in my wife’s arms;
he’s staring at a puddle
shimmering in the wind.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

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