Herbert and Bertha

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 rarely rose from their seats,
at scythings of stars didn’t flinch.
Impassive, ever-present for mid week
coach journeys to the Yorkshire coast,
losses at Scarborough and Grimsby,
reflections dark models of equanimity,
aviation fuel in the flask beyond the gables
of Archibald Leitch, still on the wooden seats
hoping strangers find a lift,
shaking hands with wry glances,
a gentle hand on the shoulder
like it’s all to be expected


Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/herbert-and-bertha/