I can’t play out today,

there is no use knocking at my door

and asking if I am free

and then slyly suggesting I lend you my ball

for I know I won’t get it back

as it will be booted at some point

into a neighbours garden

and I will get the blame for it breaking the glass

of their greenhouse, the shards of that fallen

glass murdering several tomato plants and a prize

cucumber, green blood dripping from its

dying form, riga mortis ensured.