Illicit Exercise
By Philip Sidney
- 8415 reads
I’ve taken to running around the field behind my house -
you might not call it running -
but there is an element of privacy the field affords
which enables me to drop the detail
of speed and style.
The field belongs to a school and strictly speaking
no one but they should use it –
but all the households that back onto it
have fashioned secret gates into fences.
Dog walkers are discreet -
carry small plastic bags
so as not to leave evidence of their trespass.
I prefer to avoid them so wait
until the field is empty -
apart from the birds -
whose species take turns at flocking over the central green.
Black-headed gulls confer
before taking to the skies to survey the city
as I tamp toward them.
Jackdaws stand their ground
are more accommodating -
allowing clumsy wood pigeons to graze amongst them.
Two-tone black-grey heads nod at a scattering of feathers -
tiny heads coo in blankness –
feeling no attachment to the remains of a peer -
oblivious to the succulence of their own plump bodies.
Some strange evenings
there are herons -
alien and enigmatic -
they illuminate the duplicitous nature of this grassy rectangle –
at once a place of play
and an arena for clandestine crime.
It is well situated for those wanting to make a get-away
from casual theft -
as it is unlit at night
and becomes a yawning spread of darkness
into which
anything might dissolve.
But in these covid days it is a refuge -
a place to stretch legs, lungs, heart
and to be thankful for the substance of oneself.
I wear unsightly purple headphones –
a clear indicator that I do not wish to interact.
I am taken aback when a voice cuts through the soundtrack
with a ‘hello’ thrown at me from a lawn -
my reflex is to respond in like
but I am rattled –
do not want to be part of a passing parade.
I settle to a rhythm and look up to the far end
where a group of middle-aged men -
paunches pushing holiday shorts
pint glasses at angles sloshing liquid -
have leaked from an overgrown back-garden.
They watch me questioningly.
I pick up the pace and -
like the starlings that cover the ground today -
feign disinterest and take another lap.
I have half-forgotten as I approach again
cannot place an unfamiliar call in the air -
harmonious and lovely
it rises above
the story I listen to
and brings me into the present -
the men are singing -
an illicit choir -
they take a risk
with this outdoor lunchtime recital.
Later -
as I drink water in the kitchen -
I see them from the window
skulking beside the pavilion -
like schoolboys furtively smoking -
what times we live in.
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Comments
As you say, good to have a
As you say, good to have a refuge to stretch your legs, and share your musings to the light jogging beat. We have a school field behind, and when we moved here there was a public footpath across it to town, but eventually we were told that though it was still on the OS maps they had had it closed, and then they built a security fence around the field with a locked door next to our gate! We worried a bit that the sewerage men wouldn't easily get access to a notorious blockage point, but they seem to manage from the huge manhole in the lane! RHiannon
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Yes,
the pleasures of solitude, with only birds for company. A clever meander arriving at a powerful last line, leaving us to wonder how we reached it.
Excellent.
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We too have a lane at the
We too have a lane at the back of our garden that leads from an old victorian school onto playing fields, but sadly our house hasn't got a back gate, so we never venture there. In the summer the kids have their sports days which has been sadly lacking this year due to covid, so now it's just left to nature as the public cannnot enter with gates padlocked and no other way in.
Your poem does sum up the peace and tranquility, but also as you say the strangeness of the times we're living in too.
Jenny.
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One of the best (and
One of the best (and creepiest) covid poems I've yet to read.
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So much to enjoy in this - I
So much to enjoy in this - I loved the idea of the men leaking from the back garden. There are some very strange sights around at the moment, and what was once unremarkable has become clandestine. Great poem for our times.
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Oh this is lovely! Thank you
Oh this is lovely! Thank you so much for the image of the illicit choir. Strange times indeed
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I love the idea of the men
I love the idea of the men singing in secret. And that, left to itself, with no PE lessons the field is full of birds, who also sing. As if singing is mens' natural state
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This wonderful poem is our
This wonderful poem is our Facebook and Twitter Pick of the Day!
Please share/retweet if you enjoyed it as much as I did
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It might be a good thing, in
It might be a good thing, in the long run, that we've found our own backyards, and beyond. Certainly I've never known the barren so busy. A lovely poem.
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what times we live in, indeed
what times we live in, indeed. really liked this.
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So many great lines --
So many great lines -- "oblivious to the succulence of their own plump bodies" / "yawning spread of darkness".
What a cracking poem.
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This is our Poem of the Week
This is our Poem of the Week - Congratulations!
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What times we live in, indeed
What times we live in, indeed. much enjoyed your lovely jaunt this morning. It registered big with me. We live in dfferent countries, but I felt us walking side by side.
Rich
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This is our Poem of the Month
This is our Poem of the Month - Congratulations!
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I also walk around my
I also walk around my neighborhood and had to get used to (as well as reciprocate) greetings, I'm from the city where I had to keep to myself. When you describe your surroundings I'm remembering fond memories at my Uncle's who lives in a similar neighborhood to yours. I'm really digging the imagery here, the read is refreshing to to senses! ^_^
~Sweet T
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I love this
merging of nature with running and your lovely description of drinking, singing men in shorts.... beautiful x
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