‘Many of the football pitches I played on are housing estates now; which is a bit sad. Mind you, I am sorely tempted to knock on someone’s door and say,’ by John Mills 

“I scored a goal in your house.

I picked the ball up by the shed,

ploughed straight through the forsythia,

dummied the recycling bin,

nipped through the back door

and let fly from the kitchen.

Like a rocket it soared through the living room,

into the conservatory,

past Uncle Albert snoozing on the Ikea leatherette sofa

and into the top corner just where that tasteless macramé thing is.

Now, where shall I put the blue plaque?”

After spending his working life teaching English John turned his attention to writing. His poems cover the human condition from breathless marathons to bedside vigils; a consideration of life in all its scope from global to macro. Whilst never taking himself seriously he treats poetry with the utmost respect.

 

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