<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Good Luck<\/strong><\/p>\n It was his great good luck <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Robert Nisbet<\/strong> wrote short stories for over 30 years, with seven collections published. He now writes poetry, teaches a few English literature classes for Swansea University and reports on football for local newspapers and radio.<\/p>\n This poem has previously appeared on The Camel Saloon<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Good Luck It was his great good luck not to have had an expensive education nor pull nor place nor privilege at all, but that he, living alone, in \u201998, should be working for Murphy\u2019s, a small firm in a small country town, buying and selling musical instruments, which he could play, restore […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5151","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5151","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5151"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5151\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5153,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5151\/revisions\/5153"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5151"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5151"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5151"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nnot to have had an expensive education
\nnor pull nor place nor privilege at all,
\nbut that he, living alone, in \u201998,
\nshould be working for Murphy\u2019s,
\na small firm in a small country town,
\nbuying and selling musical instruments,
\nwhich he could play, restore and love,
\nknowing the wise melancholy of the alto sax,
\nof soul and swing, and that he should, that year,
\nmeet Rose. She,
\nliving with two burly Labradors
\nand her garden\u2019s swarm of tits and starlings,
\nin a stone-walled cottage, smudged with ivy,
\nwould, when he played blues to her,
\nclose her eyes, smile, tap her foot,
\nsay, Yes,\u00a0 yes.<\/p>\n