Football - Poem by Joyce Johnson-Merryweather
Just like a football I am and have
been bounced around a bit,
But only by chance of fate, no man
would get away with it.
The football suffers silently
the grabs, the throws, the kicks.
I'm not one to take that from
the country boobs or the city slicks.
I come from a line of strong women
who took on varying roles.
My grandma was a marcher
for equality at the poles.
Grandma raised her family of five
after her young husband died,
by sheer strong will and hard work
with no helpmeet by her side.
My paternal grandma must have been
a strong willed woman too.
She raised a very respectful son
who gave womenfolk their due.
My mama raised four strapping sons
without needing to raise a hand,
no slaps, no harsh words and no threats
to make them understand.
She passed down to her daughter
unrelenting self respect.
Rough handling me would surely bring
more grief than you'd expect.
So I'm not much like a football
nor would I ever be
an uncomplaining plaything
kicked around so endlessly.
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