Cliff Bastin’s Boots
¶ 1
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How did you run in those boots, Cliff Bastin?
Gliding tackles, like Nureyev,
dragging mud-clumped studs
across exhausting bogs
where lesser players ran a-ground.
¶ 2
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Fleeting past the West Stand,
dancing boy Bastin’s goals aroused
dreams in younger boys and men
who packed North London terraces to watch
The Arsenal entertain between the wars.
¶ 3
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In dead-weight boots on grass-less swamps,
boy Bastin ran eternal wings.
One hundred goals, the crowd still sings
seventy years on.
Only the boots have gone.
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