A lie can travel half way round the world before the truth laces up its shoes by Trevor Wright

Piss shit and blood,

not alcohol – but piss shit and blood.

Those were the smells of that day.

And the rustle of covers

being pulled over the facts,

before the eyes of the dead.


Her cousins were on the other side.

Strapping Notts lads not unfamiliar with a rumble

who to this day if asked will paw the ground

in the hope that some 21st century

informatic will pop up to explain just how

a day of jumpers for goalposts became

hoardings for stretchers.


But we’d trod this ground before .

In 81 and 83 and 84 when men in yellow

stickered toyshop helmets resting on

comedy sideburns were framed by

numberless ranks, then charged twice,

first by truncheons on horse back

then with horse shit, whilst families used

to looking a problem or three square in the

eye before Evans the milk finished his rounds

kept the solidarity of the world ticking over,

with tears hidden behind Amandla fists.


Hounds let loose to hunt,

and loadsamoney blooding

were the scents of the decade.

And the dehumanising tally-ho

of the scratchers of the estate,

creating new enemies within.


You see. The most successful of snakes

do not lie in wait ready to sink in their fangs

or to simply wrap themselves around us

with the sole aim of stopping our breathe.

They constrict methodically, remorselessly

shutting down our oxygenating blood flow,

all the while monitoring return pressure,

only relaxing their grip when assessing

that our hearts have lost the strength

to pump back.


Spineless vilification

fuelled in publicly subsidised bars.

Thats the lingering reek of this day.

As the hear, hear cheer snorters

of chumocracy continue to exert

traction on the truth.
A lie can travel half way around the world before the truth laces up its shoes.

Keep your laces close to your heart