7-15 Of A Sunday Evening

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Police horses stood keeping order
Are snorting and shaking proud heads
Tapping their hoofs, whilst frustrated supporters
Cuss angrily under their breath.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Defeated at home, departing mob know
Events better change and be quick
Or him what picks team, won’t get the season
As irked punters unload with their shtick.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 This is no place to be if the full time beep means:
That’s it, there’s always next week
Best be away on your toes, follow yer nose
And make haste down a nearby side street.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Double-deckers are jammed with supporters
Castigating the hot and cold team
Mates and me prefer old fashioned walking
Thus avoiding the half cut and peeved.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Twenty minutes we’re out of the danger zone
Where the angered are still harping on
About losing at home to some team from below ‘em’
Whose whole squad were brought for a song?

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Along busy streets, we’re stamping our feet
As warm feelings return to our toes
There’s a fine dust of sleet settling on people
Been Chrimbo shopping down London’s Kings Road.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 After making my way to Victoria
A thought suddenly enters me mind
As I remember Sundays back in days of yore
Before Sunday shop openings and Sky.

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 At a bus stop I’m clapping me hands to stay warm
As stooping shadows emerge like souls lost
Carrying cardboard and blankets to the doorways of shops
In the feint hope they’ll ward off Jack Frost.

9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 I’m told society’s changing for the better in different ways
Yeah and maybe for some it’s all right
What kind of society looks on the homeless, and turns quickly away
As they freeze on these cold winter nights?

10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 So fans if we’re beat it’s concerning,
A no score draw or gaffer tintacked
As Christmas approaches, try and lay off the moaning
Compared to some our gripes ain’t nuffink, it’s fact!



This poem is loosely based on events after Monday and Sunday night kick-offs at recent match’s I watched in London, one televised and one live.

The stooping shadows, I refer to in the poem, despite the waether were and still are sleeping in shop doorways opposite New Scotland Yard, on Victoria Street.

When the Royal Wedding Day comes next Summer hordes of people will be sleeping rough in the very same street through out the night, by choice, some people unfortunately for them, at this moment in time don’t have that choice.



Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/7-15-of-a-sunday-evening/