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Beach Football

Peter Goulding

Wednesday, June 9th, 2004

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Whenever we went to the beach,
I’d always bring a ball,
And hours on end, I’d try to breach
My Dad’s defensive wall.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 He never let me score a goal.
I had to earn that joy.
Life, he said, was not a stroll,
Especially for a boy.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Sometimes, there was hard, wet sand,
Sometimes, hard and gritty.
But stinging feet don’t understand
The total lack of pity.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Occasionally, I’d howl with pain,
If catching one quite badly.
But Dad would make me try again,
Although my feet stung madly.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Until, one day, he swung a foot,
And kicked a lump of granite.
Inwardly, I giggled, but
I swear I didn’t plan it.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 My lack of pity for his woes
Could scarcely be denied.
But, much worse than his broken toes –
The bruising to his pride.

© Peter Goulding 9th June 2004

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/beach-football/