Match night ( back then )

Leaning towards the target

a granddad type shakily handed

launches his arrows through blue exhaled clouds

missies, curses, steps aside

downs another Guinness mouthful

while keeping a baggy eye on the board.

 

Victoriously piercing the dead centre

his young opponent creates a swell of triumphant roars

around the vault.

 

Fifty years of age and clothes style difference between winner and loser

but no difference to the latter in accepting the outcome

and with the help of the young man's hand on the old guy's shoulder

they share smiles

in true good dart sportsmanship style.

 

Bitternesse's or revengeful thoughts have no place here

among factory working associates

only repeats of ' good luck next time'

 

With the chalk numbers erased, arrows pocketed, glasses emptied,

the ' time gentlemen ' call

slowly evicts them into the late dark

 

each ' goodnight ' to each sincerely meant, an example

of what they and their hard worked but contented lives will always be about.  

◄ The Self only family

Chance to connect ►

Comments

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LEON STOLGARD

Wed 11th Sep 2019 13:12

Cheer's again Don. The ' vault ' ( back then ) was a room mainly used by blokes but in this age of sex discrimination, that idea has and rightly so bitten the dust.

Take care mate.

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Don Matthews

Wed 11th Sep 2019 13:05

I was led astray in the first stanza

I pictured grandad with bow and arrow. Shaky hands? Here's trouble.

I'm hopeless with darts? But what I miss having lived in UK for 5 years is the typical English pub, real Tudor, not mock like ours. Old oak beams. The people who frequent them. And yes, darts were an essential component of that scene.

Or pubs have no character. They are just a drinking hole for the plebs....

As mentioned, it was a good poem. I liked it. Though, what is a 'vault' in this connection?

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LEON STOLGARD

Wed 11th Sep 2019 12:41

Cheer's Don. You any good at this game?

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Don Matthews

Wed 11th Sep 2019 00:28

I like this....

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