Matchday

_{In memoriam - Hillsborough 1989}

 

Remember on the bus,

that lad from East Lancs

 

swinging a motorbike chain.

PC lass stretching her arm:

 

Give us - or else!

He did.                                                                 

 

On the way to the ground,

locals were chucking bricks;
 

almost a compliment.

Losers, you hissed.

 

We’ll slaughter them, you said,

just as the crowd caught up.

 

Stick with the rest;

there’s safety in numbers.

 

Passing the gates,

the mounted cops looked bored,

 

like cowboys counting sheep.

Crushed in the passageways,

 

that scrap of green beyond:

our promised land.

 

Heads in the stand,

parting like corn in the wind.

 

It’s just a fight, you said.

as we felt the barriers’ weight.

                                                                

Nowt happens here.

This is Sheffield.