1st Place – Simon French: Winter’s Lucky Lady
A Poem by Simon French – an entry in the 1st Playing Bingo Poetry Competition.
The bingo dreams of Vera
keep her lumbering every Saturday night
in plastic rainhood through cloudburst & wind.
Her ‘cleaners’ knee’ clicks the ache
up steps, a last suck on a Richmond;
her cathedral of numbers a warm glow of light & chance.
That same seat creaks
under the weight of her Mablethorpe reverie;
a caravan, local chippie and a week away from buckets & mops.
Come on Caller
incantate the numeric, the clucking crowd hang
on your every banter, quick fingers twitch in wait for ‘Duck & Dive’
or ‘Heaven’s Gate’ 78;
the winner’s whoop sends tremors out along tattooed arms
leaving Vera to deflate in taxi, an echo of bleach growing louder & harsh.
2nd Place – Sadie Few: Bingo Wings
A Poem by Sadie Few – an entry in the 1st Playing Bingo Poetry Competition.
Just recently, I did something I never thought I’d do
I played a game of bingo with my Nan and her crew
Sure I had my doubts – I thought nah that’s not for me
But then I thought to myself – it can’t be worse than watching TV
So there I was right, in this room full of Nans
Eyeing up the prizes of various pickles and jams
As something came over me. I felt out of control
Thinking about – how much I need to win those sausage rolls
So the numbers start rolling, I’m out of my depth
I’m in a panic – scanning my numbers right and left
Then my Nan lends me a hand and I realise – I’m not so smart
I underestimated these dear old ladies who are moving their pens so fast
Because I can’t keep up – I’m feeling the heat
Even though I’m so focussed trying my best to compete
All the 2’s, 22, Qwak Qwak,
Leg’s 11, Oooer – wait up what was that?
The grey haired perms, the knowing smiles,
As I shout ‘HERE’ – but it’s for full house not lines.
Now come the jibes, and in her fenland accent the caller replies
‘She doont knoo what’s gooin on’ – The room cries
With laughter – at me – cheeks flush red, heart beats fast
The cockiness I came in with now a thing of the past
My Nan flashes me a glance – tightens the grip on my hand
She’s laughing too – but it doesn’t matter – at least now I understand
So I formulate a plan – there’s still plenty of time
I can still win and those sausage rolls will be mine
So… Head down, pen ready, pride-swallowed, ears sharp
I process those numbers coming in thick and fast
10…. Yes, 66…. now 73 please, YES – I’VE GOT A LINE
But instead of shouting out – I check first to see if I’m right
But the next numbers called – I’ve run out of time
Someone else shouts ‘Here’ – and I watch them take the prize
THE PRIZE THAT SHOULD BE MINE
Now the games over, I’m empty handed
I look around at the prizes everyone else has landed
Tinned fruit, jammy dodgers, rich T’s, cans of spam
I feel envious, deflated, pining over those jars of jam
Maybe I wanted it too much – but it’s not easy and I haven’t got the touch
But my Nan does – she’s in her element here
Laughing with her friends – so full of cheer
And just at that moment I realise – I’ve actually had a good time
I kept an open mind and I went down in style
3rd Place – Michael Harrup: Bingo
A Poem by Michael Harrup – an entry in the 1st Playing Bingo Poetry Competition.
Bingo’s an old man sitting by the bar
Bingo’s his shout, when his card had got that far
Bingo’s an old man, who always loved to play
Bingo’s a grandfather, going old and grey
Bingo’s where he went, to have a little fun
Bingo’s that smirk that he’d wear when he won
Bingo’s a father; my mother’s, to be precise
Bingo was always his one and only vice
Bingo’s where I wish that I’d spent more of my time
Bingo’s the old man, looking for his line
Bingo’s a sailor, who served his hero’s time
Bingo’s a game, for a man who lived with pride
Bingo’s a brother, who left a sister behind
Bingo’s a father, who left a daughter to cry
Bingo’s an uncle, loved by all the kids
Bingo’s the one, who always gives you gifts
Bingo’s a friend, who always made you laugh
Bingo’s getting old and leaves the water in the bath
Bingo’s a granddad, or at least it is to me
Bingo’s a man, whose spirit now is free
Bingo’s who we lost, when age took its toll
Bingo’s now a word that makes my heart feel cold
Bingo’s a game with money on the line
Bingo’s a gamble, but not an evil kind
Bingo’s more than a game to me, my friend
Bingo’s a man who I’ll never see again
