1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Hunched shoulders,
haunted, hunted look:
mad, staring eyes
skittering around
in shrunken sockets.
Brow beaded with perspiration
already turning cold.
Thin thread of saliva
a silver line
trickling from unsmiling lips.
Slack jaw and half open mouth;
voice when it comes:
gruff and portentous,
mimicing the slow drawl of
Private Fraser of
‘Dad’s Army’ fame:
“We’re doomed, doomed!”
Voice accompanied shortly after
by maniacal laughter
of hundreds of hardy souls –
bordering on hysteria.



Swindon Town 0 MKDons 1. The fat lady may not quite be singing, but she is certainly clearing her throat in anticipation.

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