The shade of a late afternoon always
Takes me back to Saturdays and football -
Long shapes stretched across an oval’s spaces
Moving ahead like waves to a sea wall.
Then I recall the odor of damp grass
And pungent mud from winter’s rainy days.
There’s also the sweet smell of woody fires -
Smoke drifts across the sunlight in a haze.
The crowd was always restless and full voiced
As the home team ran out of time to win,
Three deep they'd bend as players crossed sidelines,
Corrugating like an old roof of tin.
Soon came the final bell’s stoic applause,
Shadows vanished to find another cause.