Sunday, then

Image by Lorri Lang from Pixabay

Publication Date: January, 2020

Location: The Oldie Magazine, February Issue. Available in hard copy only from all good newsagents because they don’t put winners up on their site, sadly.

Genesis: the poetry competition in The Oldie every month really just gives a title to work with and, to be honest, ‘Sunday, then’ really didn’t spark that much interest for me initially. However, part of my discipline is to get an entry into this one every month, and a take on the title did eventually arrive that I quite liked. I don’t think this poem will ever be one of my favourites. However, I was a winner in the March 2019 issue with The Exhibition, and having a second winner with this one, in the February 2020 issue, means two wins inside a year, which suggests the first one wasn’t a fluke ;-). This is also the second poem I’ve had published in the first two weeks of 2020, and that’s a great start to the year!

 In 1979, Sundays were boring.
 Mum slumped in a bar, Dad away whoring.
 Us left on our own to get up to mis-chief;
 By the time I was twelve I’d lost at least six teeth
 In fights, or when break-ins went horribly wrong
 In thrall of the older kids, we just followed along.
 It’s 2019, and Sundays are hectic!
 James has his swimming and Hannah, she skates.
 Hannah is brilliant but James is a bit thick,
 Playing virtual games with his virtual mates.
 Nobody knows yet, but I’m really quite sick;
 I’m going to die soon; such is my fate.
 Don’t pity me, nor fear for me – just raise up your cup,
 For every last word here is entirely made up! 

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