Happy Wanderer by Alan Cadman


The first home game is always the best.
I jump off the 58, dream and anticipate.
An aroma of hot dogs permeate the
late summer air.

Weaving through a dawdle of shoppers,
past Thorneycroft’s statue with the awkward
gait. The Molineux Hotel looms into sight.
A push, a shove, I avoid a fight.

Climbing steps to the famous ‘Cowshed’;
I settle in my place at the back.
Peter Knowles will bag some goals for
the old gold and black.

My first glimpse of the lush green pitch;
both teams will run out soon.
A tannoy crackles out a happy song,
I join in . . . singing out of tune.


Back to poems