Wee Scoops

Measure for Measure

A poem about Wimbledon


The sun is out,

In dim lounges
We watch them play.

A tense trapezium:
White on green,
With scuffs of a fortnight’s dust
And puffs of chalk
And drops of sweat
And echoes of summers past-
With sun bleached memories
Of short shorts and long hair
And rain;
And Martina winning …
And come on Jimmy you can do it!
And you cannot be serious
And singalonga Cliff
And Sue…

But today …
In long shorts
The no longer long shot
Is bang on.

We wave awkward flags of nationhood
Over the All England club.

The 77 year long lament dies
As the long trousers are finally folded.
The long shorts
Made long short work of it
Which was the long and the short of it.


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8 thoughts on “A poem about Wimbledon

  1. Laurie Nichols on said:

    I adore your poetry and congratulations on the 38 thousand plus hits, that is fantastic!

  2. May Arthur on said:

    Love your poem!

  3. Cathy Baker on said:

    Put beautifully, bringing back many childhood memories!

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