The Luton Loner

There he stands, not focused on the courts of Queens, because his action, his
game is in the parking lot.

He stands there with his blue felt tip pen, and old gym bag, floppy
turqoise hat, scabby nose, and thin body.

He must be about 70 years old, he has come all the way from Luton to
get autographs, standing next to small kids and groupies he asks the
players to use his blue felt tip pen to sign.

I meet this sad, forlorn man, while Novak Djokovic is practising. He
asks me whether I possess a blue felt tip pen, I dismiss him with a
quick no, the pretty girl next to me has more heart, more patience,
but no one has a blue felt tip pen.

The pretty girl and her banker boyfriend strut off with their
bottles of wine and their designer garments, the Luton man with the
broken blue felt tip pen returns and in his soft voice proceeds to
trap me and irritate me, telling me how the council forced him to
chuck out his boxes and boxes of autographs, because of it being a
fire risk, yet the coloureds play loud music and slam doors.

He asks why do they allow the Coloureds to that?

I turn my back and hope Djokovic hits the ball into is mouth

Behind the glitz and the glamour of the tennis courts of Queens are some sad men

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I wrote this in June 2007 but was encouraged to post it. These events all took place at the Queens' Tennis Club during the Stella Artois tennis championships.

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