Under the Floodlights
Friday night outside the football ground Floodlights already coming on
You were by the turnstiles,
pint in your hand Talking to someone I didn’t know I nearly
walked straight past you there Five years gone and shorter hair You
looked up, stared for a second or two Then said,
“Bloody hell. Is that you?”
We were twenty-one when we left this place
Never much good at saying
things straight
We were young under the floodlights Standing too close,
pretending it was fine You went to London,
I went north We lost touch somewhere after that Now here we
are with the same old crowd Singing songs we used to shout
Five years gone, and just like that I looked across
and you looked back
We missed the first goal talking downstairs Plastic cups and freezing air
You said you’d moved back late last year I said,
“Yeah, someone mentioned you were here.” You asked if I was seeing
anyone I laughed and said,
“Not really, no.” Then half the stand started on the ref And
you looked at me like you used to
Twenty-eight and standing there
Still not knowing what to do with our hands
We were young under the floodlights Standing too close,
pretending it was fine You went to London,
I went north We lost touch somewhere after that Now here we
are with the same old crowd Singing songs we used to shout
Five years gone, and just like that I looked across and you
looked back
At half-time you said,
“Do you remember
That walk home, freezing,
that December?” I said,
“Course I do.”
You said, “All of it?”
I looked at you.
You looked away. Then you laughed and said,
“Yeah. Anyway.”
We were young under the floodlights
Too scared then to say it right You went your way,
I went mine Turns out that’s just how it went Now everybody’s
heading out
Turnstiles clicking, thinning crowd You said,
“Last train’s quarter to two.” I said,
“I’m not getting it.
Are you?”
Friday night, floodlights going down Cold concrete,
empty ground Someone sweeping underneath the stand
Your hand brushed mine
and stayed there
Neither of us
said anything.