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There he is again
swooping from the dark of the floodlights
to perch on the frame of the goal.
Crossbar carrion bird
eyeing me warily, picking his mark.
Why here, why this field, why now?
With all the beauty of this ground,
to break the bonds of the team
deny me the shared experience
present me with the different memory.
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You, carrion crossbar bird
with your inky, fetid blackness
separating me from the herd.
Spreading your intent deep
into my calcified calf
the knee’s chalky dustiness
the white exposed ankle.
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the echo of the studs
on the empty dressing room floor.
Muffled match excitement seeps in,
the hollowness of the commiseration.
Is injury worse when they win or lose?
You may watch for the crossbar carrion bird
but he preys most when you forget he is there