FOR DEAN KIELEY AND SCOTT CARSON.


Invisible to thirty thousand eyes,
I dragonfly between the turf and net.
The ninja way is mine, despite my size.
My arms carve air in sushi rolls and yet
the ball is sly, elusive to my touch.
Sometimes it finds brief glory in a goal –
and then they see me; blame me; hurling such
abuse they curse my blue and white striped soul.
But when I read the striker’s bare intent…
predict the angle and abort his aim,
the crowd’s applause is brief although well meant.
Goalkeepers aren’t the stars of any game.
So mountain-high I rise, leap and crash land.
I know the game’s controlled by my gloved hand.