I (almost) subbed Martin Chivers
¶ 1
Leave a comment on verse 1 0
I once played with Martin Chivers,
Sunday team were short and he said yes!
He ran the local pub by the river,
And tho’ 50-odd he pulled on our vest.
¶ 2
Leave a comment on verse 2 0
A man of grace, blond in hair and beard,
A North-London sagging Socrates,
strength and strike still to be feared,
Innate timing, he passed with alacrity.
¶ 3
Leave a comment on verse 3 0
But 3-nil down at half time,
International pentagenarian flags.
Then, as ever, Chivers foot like a tine,
On a mortally wounded stag
¶ 4
Leave a comment on verse 4 0
pierces the net, with professional relish,
scores for Brookmans Park thirds – at last.
Pride of the Park Lane and the English,
looks up to silence in the municipal park.
¶ 5
Leave a comment on verse 5 0
Later on the bleary subs arrive,
and with youth may come a result.
I ask Uefa Cup winner Chiv to make way, he replies:
and I quote, “That would be the final insult.”
Comments
0 Comments on the whole Poem
Create an account to leave a comment on the whole Poem
0 Comments on verse 1
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 1
0 Comments on verse 2
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 2
0 Comments on verse 3
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 3
0 Comments on verse 4
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 4
0 Comments on verse 5
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 5