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As football widow sits
husband waits to get his fix
of footie on the goggle box;
his football widow’s ironing socks.
He’s on the pitch chasing the dream,
she fills in forms for young son’s team.
He’s 47 and should know better,
but still lives to be a goal getter.
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Fortnightly visits to the County Ground –
season ticket at Swindon Town.
She listens to games on the radio
singing ‘up the football league we go.’
He travels far and wide to watch his side
and even though she’s tried and tried,
he still refuses petrol money;
to her that’s not remotely funny.
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On Saturday he’s at the bookie –
clearly his idea of nookie;
highlights show on Sunday morn –
for him this is akin to porn.
Football morning, noon and night,
for football widow no respite.