The night the bus took us to the wrong ground: metaphor

Poem by Ian McMillan
Illustration by Robin Renard

We were playing QPR. We went to Selhurst Park.
‘Hey driver!’ we shouted. ‘Duz tha know
Where tha guin?’ He sang Carpenters songs

In a karaoke sludge drone as he tore up
The A to Z and took us down the blind alley
That he hoped would lead to the right place.

I often think about us, small town folks
Adrift in the big city, faces pressed to the windows
Of the bus like stamps on clear envelopes

As the game carried on elsewhere, like the game
Always seems to, and seemed to and will seem to.
We pulled up at the wrong ground. ‘I think

Your match is off, folks’ he said. ‘No lights on’
He started singing Carpenters again. We’re
Football fans, mate; as far as being lost goes

We’ve only just begun.