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Saturday Ritual

Phil Whyte

Tuesday, September 25th, 2012

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 It’s just a Saturday ritual my dear.
So have no fear
And let’s be clear,
I’m not gallivanting,
I’ve no bird in tow,
Think of it more
Like I’m off to a show;
I’ll be back before you know.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 And yes the pub is also part
Of the ritual we must trek,
But please take heart
As I never really notice,
The barmaids so buxom
And breasts so pink;
I never ever touch them,
I just order the drink.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 And when we lose,
I’m sorry if I swear;
It’s like when the junior stylist
Mucks up your lovely hair.
And that time I kicked the cat
I swear it was not meant,
But still you banished me that night,
To the garden and the tent.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 And you know I can’t go shopping,
We tried that once before;
The jab with your brolly hurt so much
When I tried to see the score;
And you know you can’t come with me,
Last time you caught the flu,
Your hands were blue, your face like ice
As the final whistle blew.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 So help me with this ritual,
Its generations old;
Just spare a thought for us poor souls
As we shiver in the cold.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Dedicated to the “footy widows”.

© Phil Whyte (Philip Miles), 2012

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/saturday-ritual-3/