Chelsea Fans Suit Me Just Fine
¶ 1
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Today I met a Chelsea fan,
a quite distinguished older man
who grew up there; that was his claim.
He called me just by my last name,
and did not get over-excited
when I said I watch United
(neutral, but a friend of mine:
among Reserves in seventy-nine).
He showed me racks and racks of suits,
while speaking of old football boots
with nails, the type I haven’t seen,
and innovations in between
and shared some World Cup Final tales,
insisting I had come from Wales,
then called the tailor from the phone,
who knew at once my collarbone
had broken and, so, I explained
that in my teens, when I had trained
some younger kids and got too smart
a diving header tore’t apart,
and that is principally why
I now just wear a suit and tie
and talk the Game ‘tween daily chores
in coffee shops and clothing stores.
Now, it shouldn’t come as a surprise
that Mr. Duncan knew my size
or the suit that I’ll be wearing new
is closer to a Chelsea Blue
than red, and with a vest (a sign?).
These Chelsea fans suit me just fine.
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