Football Poets

Diplomatic Relations.

Drop a rare old mountain dew
Flask passed twixt a few
Helped keep howling cross field chills at bay
After mass, hastily assembled over The Scrubs,
Few muckers and close bloods
Deemed a proper pukka start to one’s Sunday.

These German students, so they say
Apparently primed for affray in their play
Intended inflicting hurt, right from the off,
Angry screams of, “Oi You! Referee!
Didn’t you see that quare fella kick me”,
Provoking fake angelic postures, or a scoff.

Visiting, The Smoke, on an indiscreet week-end
With her latest in highly questionable dubious men
Dominic’s nan grimaced at every blow he took,
“Holy Mother of J.C, where are yeer specs, referee
How come ye, and yer linesman didn’t see
That big blond galoot, give the child a sly right hook?

I’ve a beady eye on you Blondie
Any more of that, yee’ll be answering to me”,
Dominic’s nan warned the fly Teutonic winger
Whom didn’t seem troubled in the least?
Sporting a smile exposing glistening rows of teeth
Set off by that sign irks all nationalities…the finger.

Approaching respite of half time
Racing along the touch-line
Blonde Adonis seemed a certainty to score
That is, till a sly kick in the shin,
By an old one, enjoying a week-end soiree of sin,
Put the kybosh on, like a deft left to the jaw.

Lying prone on the grass
A discreet kick to your man’s Khyber Pass
Drew banshee like screams indicating proper pain
Helping the poor hurted child to his feet
Dominic’s nan gave his ear a subtle tweak
Smiling at his, hobbling for remainder of the game.

Over plate’s a boiled bacon, spuds and cabbage
Later, on that afternoon, after watching The Big Match
Dominic’s nan, proved her prowess as an able bar-room singer
Her choice in men, might have been a long way off au fait,
Who cares? Sure, tis not every day, your gran provokes affray
As yon German bhoy found out, after giving Dominic’s nan…the finger.

Peace.

Try n stay sage, come what may, and have a right blinding day.

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