after a line by R. S. Thomas
What god is proud of this garden
of bruised winter grass, litter, dog shit
and rusted goalposts, to tend to it
so foolishly? In weather so miserable
they’d abandon matches, he pushes
his white-liner through the mud—
puddled and stud-pocked from rain
and Sunday’s game. He lays down
a three-inch stripe, raises
a pitch from the sodden surface. With cross-
field lines finished he ploughs
along this nearest side, wheeling
his paint machine—one foot in and one foot
out of touch. It’s foul out.
He should seek shelter
in the shed. Wait for a break
in this weather, get on with something else,
come back later. Who knows when
the rain will stop? Next week will be worse
and the weeks after that as winter
and the players erase every line
between on field and off and muddy lesions
disfigure the once-summer cover.
What brings him in this downpour
to mark this field for sport?
He surely goes on like this
in his orange waterproofs and heavy boots.
by Ben Egerton
Ben Egerton is the author of two collections of poetry, the most recent of which is Antiphony | Anti-Phoney (Buttonhook Press, 2025). He holds a PhD in Creative Writing (Poetry and Theology) from Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand, where he teaches in the School of Education. Ben is an Associate Fellow at the Rivendell Center for Theology and the Arts at Yale University.
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