Dalglish on the Golf Course

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 There he swings
The King of Anfield
The same shimmy hips
Not snake like
But deadly
The firm grip on the iron
Steadfast the balance
Measured thoughtful
The grass short no clinging mud
To dirty his pringle jumper
Whilst the grand number 7
Peeled off mud caked sweaty
And blessed
Is sullied by lesser gods
Who long for the glorious shadows
Of the 70’s and 80’s to recede
Into the corridors of yesterday
But we who witnessed
We who remember
Watch the Anfield King
Sink the ball on the golf course
And sigh wistfully regretfully
As we long for his return.


Saw a picture of King Kenny in the newspapers earlier in the week, playing bloody golf! His words on the current crisis at Liverpool?

“They only have to call”.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/dalglish-on-the-golf-course/