Anywhere But Here

 

Anywhere But Here

 

Shambling formless down the aisle

herded by our shepherdesses,

some gurning flappermouth

with a penchant for sport

or so he claims, this dreadnought

blinks as he cops tight tennis dresses

sported by Naomi or Caroline,

couldn’t check order of play,

didn’t bother, no time,

snatches a snapshot nonetheless,

deposits it in the bank for laters,

backhand whistles down the line

exchanging ground shot for shots,

cross court, lobs, half volleys,

and he cares not a jot,

down under living a living thick clot,

loudly declaims he was off his trolley

some night, last night, the night before,

hell, Tuesday last he had a blast,

since you didn’t ask,

but he’ll tell you anyway, talk’s cheap,

dropping the free programme by his feet,

scours the crowd to meet and greet

anyone that’s sadly here,

anyone he badly knows,

his looks and looks that boldly go

as stampedes towards the exit grow,

pray ground beneath his feet swallows,

and doesn’t bother with the spitting,

until he’s left alone

to check the phone for cricket scores,

a wallabies and springboks bore,

to drive living shit out of any in earshot,

up and under, dropping the ball,

rabbits a good ruck and maul,

an all black in bucket hat

from underneath the scum he crawls,

Azarenka’s angry glare,

a scream of incandescent rage 

lobbed in his direction,

caught him looking at his own reflection

because he really cannot fathom why,

his something mate from Dubai won’t fly,

give coming to watch the tennis a try,

but that bloke's not coming nowhere near,

while he’s anywhere but here.