"A bloody miracle. Or something"

A faint, unmistakeable cheer rises
out of the street into Sunday's grey,
the first clue the day will end right
and someone will say:
"It's a bloody miracle ... or something".
A miracle jumping through the screen,
as adrenalin leads the charge up the field,
on the lounge - cheering as a solo act.

Somewhere else thousands also cheer
local heroes. The sound of a great need,
rising from bodies gathered for love of something:
vindication, victory, good news.
Something ephemeral as dots on a screen,
electric impulses which say
this ground is green, greener than reality
and this man is scoring a try again and again,
side on, from the front, in slow motion.
It will always be happening
for those who want the moment.

(Rugby League Grand Final, Sydney, 1991)

Jill Jones

If you've any comments on this poem, Jill Jones would be pleased to hear from you.

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