Football Poets

Declan Rice- the summer break

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Declan Rice
For £105 million
I know, it’s an obscenity
A crime against humanity
Millions of starving children
Pleading for their next meal
Football lining its pockets
Once again
Grossly underfunded hospitals
Aching under the weight of it all
A crying shame
And football just sits in its
Avaricious seat, swimming in greed
While the world looks around
In forlorn need
Money leaves its faintly repulsive
Stench, stink, oblivious to
The rest of society
Football is no longer the rattle
And scarf game.
For our community, your market
Your town, the village
You grew up in
The street we played
With rags amid flickering
Orange lamps
And mums scrubbing doorsteps
Proudly folding arms
As their little boy sprinted
Across the cobblestones
Swerving and darting past
Defenders as if they were
Just invisible and apparitions
Back then the kids
With dirty, filthy faces
And tank tops with sweaty
Feelings and sentiments
Head towards arrivals and destinations
Destiny and fate await them
Their club, their crest and badge
On the opening day of the season
Just over a month to go
Before the children of the world
Converge on the terraces
Again, again
But way back then
The kids of the summer
Kicked and tackled
To their hearts content
Smudged faces, greasy hair
A mess and mass of dishevelled
Delight, deliriously unaware
Of mum’s despairing plea
To come in now son
Tea’s ready kids
For in 1950s Britain
You could still hear
The stentorian roar
Of industry, the factory
Horn blasting almost
Incessantly
But they played on
No mobile phones or
I Pads then
Just gleeful simplicity
Kids wearing summer shorts
Grubby as the socks
And shoes with holes
But none of them cared
Scurrying and scampering
The tempo of their times
Crying out for the reverse
Pass inside the full back
There were none of those distractions
That hampered our stride
Football was street football
Before you were born
Yelling, voices bouncing
With complete freedom and
Lovable buoyancy
Across back to back smart
Terraced houses
No TV aerials and Sky
To furnish our neatly knit
Living rooms in those days
Throughout those summers
Pools Coupons were always
Ready for completion
When dad settled down for
Egg omelette on Saturday
Evening and we knew
Where we stood
Trundling trams and trolley buses
Now rumbling into the past
For Dixon of Dock Green
Read Declan Rice
In the characteristic 21st
Century swing
Football, a barely heard whisper
Training for new season
Against picture postcard
Mountainous backdrops
Bibs and vests for company
Stretching rusty limbs
Leg kicks, short, sharp sprints
Giggling through the pain
Quick passing jabs and flicks
In circular games
Then for the claret and blue
Geographies, short and long
Distances, Rush Green
For the Hammers
While football bathes in
Its sultry July warmth
Declan Rice
How we miss you
Farewell now
But permanently in our
Hearts
Arsenal you have our blessing
But we’ll see you again

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