Almanac poetry: The sweet spot

The sweet spot

 

JD and me
Fifty-five and sixty
Kicking a brand new footy
Behind the cemetery

 

Skinny old legs
Kennedy legs
From our mothers’ side
Majella and Margaret
And six more
Some left too young
(I’m nearly my mother’s age)
Others lived long
Majella’s faithful heart
Going and going
Nine decades and then some

 

The safety of drop-punts
The skew-wiff risk of torps
The timing of enigmatic drop-kicks
Right foot mainly (left foot rarely)
Aiming for that sweet spot
When the ball
– unscarred and full of air and energy –
Leaves the boot
– real footy boots, not runners –
And spins or spirals
Hopefully perfectly
From one Kennedy to another

 

Thirty metres apart
Hands ready to mark the ball
Hands that held our mothers’ fingers
When we were babes in their arms

 

When we were younger
The kicks went much further
Fifty-five…sixty…
(Okay, so we kid ourselves)

 

We get older
We get closer

 

Two blokes
Kicking a new footy
Behind a cemetery