They chant and clap at the station, take rest, eyes open, in the concourse, flock carriages with shirts of many colours, Inter, Real, Bayern, Arsenal. They only want to get to the game, true supporters, enter our brightly-lit stadium. The price is two years’ wages, the cost is family, roots, possessions. Their lamenting barely heard behind bolted doors and shuttered windows, but they only sing when they’re winning, they only sing when they’re winning.
Ken Evans is a lead mine tour guide in Derbyshire. When not kept in the dark underground, he is completing a Creative Writing MA at Manchester University. His work was longlisted in this year's Poetry Society National Competition, and is forthcoming in Envoi and Obsessed with Pipework. The Interpreter's House and Morphrog 9 have already featured his poems. His first collection is shortlisted for the current Bare Fiction Debut Poetry Collection prize.