A poem by Simon Tester
The Pond
Heavy drinking, would see me sinking
Kicking the ball, and acting the fool
The 16th hole, is where I lost control
Head first, after quenching my thirst
With too much beer, and not an ounce of fear
I did tumble, tumble into the cruel mistress
Muddy and wet, but not dead yet
I rose from the deep, upon a mound so steep
Covered in brown, and sporting a frown
I’d become, the tournament clown
People laughed and people cried
Little did they know
That was the day, I almost died.
The Story
This poem is about a very dark day in my life. During a Footgolf tournament, of which can only be described as binge drinking dressed up as ‘sport’. I experienced a traumatic collapse while standing on a bridge which stood arguably 15ft above a flowing river, thanks to my own inner strength and courage I was able to survive the fall and avoid being swept away by the current.
Much to my confusion, no one came to my aid, rather my ‘friends’ could be found rolling around on the grass laughing. That was the day I realised I am truly alone in this world.