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Boss

Jon Tait

Friday, April 10th, 2009

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The gaffer
looks like a New York Irish gangster
in a 1940s black & white movie.
Prince of Wales check trousers,
shiny black shoes,
blue & white striped shirt
with white cuffs & a large knotted tie.
¾ length black Crombie trenchcoat,
sharply tailored.
But you with the gaffer,
you feel there could be
A sawn-off shotgun
concealed in the folds of the coat.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Hair black as burnt wood
swept off his boxer’s brow
with heavy plasterer’s fists
& arms sweeping in an arc
urging players forward
from the touchline.
Throwing back his dark head
& taking a long slug of water
then hurling the empty plastic bottle
into the dug-out in frustration.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Harder than the wooden interior
of North Dublin bars
with a Guinness harp on the walls
& blood on the floor
belting out ‘McApline’s Fusiliers’
with the boys.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/boss/