When you’re eight,

you don’t have to discuss

what you’re going to do

before you do it.

 

You don’t even have to think

about it –

you meet someone new,

someone just like you

and you like them.

 

So you do what comes naturally:

you wrestle.

 

You do it as hard as you can

and for as long as you’re allowed.

It’s mutual, reciprocal, beautiful.

 

When it’s time to go,

you’ll say ‘goodbye’

to your opponent, enemy, new best friend,

but only because your mum,

who understands nothing of these things,

insists.