1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The end of the season coincides,
with something that I must confide,
could mean relegation for me,
because I’m sitting my GCSEs.
It means maths and impossible angles,
the death of vital goalmouth scrambles,
It’s a silent hall, where I cannot win,
no wild terrace on which to chant and sing,
it’s me against the world. alone.
No team, as one collective soul,
examiners step sinister as penalty-takers,
unamused by hilarious capers,
or by any-eye-contact-at-all,
I know I’d rather be playing football.
I dread the results, like I dread the league table,
I hope the results will prove me able,
and I shall not be forlourn,
rather promoted – to sixth form!


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