Belive in what we're doing?

© 2023 by Sporting Chance Magazine

  • Sporting Chance

A poem for Shaun Marsh from a much scorned lover

By Jack Banister

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Maybe, once upon a time, I would have. Alas, those summer days are slowly fading, The evening sun is setting over St Peter’s…


I was ready to call it quits, Shaun. I was sick of you cancelling, and not calling. I was sick of you coming, And then leaving like you were in a hurry.


I grew sick of the excuses you dreamt up. “Hey, my back’s a bit sore, can we raincheck?” “I’m sorry, I just got caught, I was short of time.” “At the nets with Dad & Mitch, soz.”


I tried to understand, because I knew That family was key — at least for you. “I need some time alone,” you’d say, And so off you’d go, back to WA.


When you came back, ‘in form’ again, We’d share a balmy summer’s day, And I’d think, “Gee, this bloke’s not half bad. This could be it — finally.”


But then, you’d go back to the flaking. The excuses, all over again. Your back might’ve been aching, but were you trying, or not trying hard enough?


My mind was made up, Just two days ago - It was over, Shaun. We’d had a good run (well — sort of).


The death knock was the final step. All I had to do was drop you. It was happening, I was sure of it, But then my phone beeps…


O dear god — it was you…


New text message — 11:53pm From: Shaun ❤️ xx “Hey, you up? 😉”