1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Two legs
Battered and bruised
Black and blue
Yet functional, motorised, almost bionic ….
Oh, days of yore

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Now it’s two legs
Outwardly unscathed
Save for a scar
Yet inwardly, decaying –
Muscles, not so much knotted, as sheepshanked
With filaments, for ligaments
Creaking knees, gnarled and nobbled
Patella resembling a tree trunk, inner rusty rings – chronicling matches played
Veins like unplugged dams – fit to burst
Toes tortured, by gout, not Guantánamo
It’s the shins, that are now akin, to washboards
Whereas the stomach’s more saggy, than Prescott’s jowls
And as much as the English love a good fart joke
I won’t even comment, on the condition of my bowels

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 I’m jealous of :
Thierry Henry, unafflicted, with this limb ennui
And Damo darting down the wing at Stamford Bridge, aka Duffers
For my lungs too, are reduced from Apollo mission air tanks, to asthma puffers

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Stamina stunted, by this constant inertia –
I’d love to be ploughing, through mud so cloying
But there comes a time, when there’s no going back to playing
And the reality of that ….

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Is soul destroying


Do I miss playing?
If science came up with a real rejuvenating juice – I’d be the first one to sell my soul to the devil !

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/decay/