Things Poetic

 Scrum they spilled the ball, again  bloody backs OK, leave it to us forwards Hooker lifts arms int he air, stretching muscles, waiting.  Doing a sort of mating dance with the opposing hooker hookers both the lumps of the props lumber up and take their positions on either side, tightening binds, steam lifting up from the 6 men locks hold each other up, kneel and peek through between the props legs seeking the enemy...a few paces in front of them then the fly boys grab hold on either side and the back duck and charge tusste push hit grip hook and ....break, run, pass, tackle, lunge.....dive score

 escape The letter arrived this morning, telling me my fate "...report to ...." Hanging on every day, to find ways to avoid that destructive world, confused inside, hating the feeling of cowardice, but also feeling right not to want to "join up" to fight who ? My friend Pule ? My fellow students ? why ? They are me and I am them.  Human, equal, equally fighting for their lives as they should be not as they are  the beige or blue shapes on, in or alongside the trucks as they cause mayhem, crushing lives, destroying lives,  bringing the world down around them Grab the thread of a chance, and a week later, Im in a car off to the airport then in a plane a ferry a bus a taxi "get some sleep and lets catch up in the morning" a whole new world but my world was back there, the mountains, the crashing waves, pushing the bodies back to the beach feeling the southern sun on my face, shoulders thats my world and yet now, no longer escaped but now imprisoned in my mind...