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McDuff

Bryan Murphy

Monday, December 29th, 2008

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Welcome, McDuff! Khartoum street banners
hail the failed footballer from far Cornwall
come to raise Al-Hillal, foremost club
in the continent’s furthest-stretched country
to higher pastures.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 The goals flow, and all is well.
McDuff reaps due reward, until
dry pitches, harsh tackles bruise his bones,
that saviour status sags, those banners fade,
his welcome sours.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 The Roman streets are paved, well cold,
poor players two a lira. McDuff is here,
scrounging beer, inventing a future
to match his inglorious past:
all that remains.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 His mate, Fat Ian, keeps him fed
and works him in his bar,
no natives welcome there.
McDuff now teaches English
five days, one night.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 He sells his tongue, he trades his hands,
his feet find no demand.
Yet he skips ahead, from bar to bed
of people that he has charmed
with no songs.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 The men of Khartoum remember him still,
a young man with the world at his toes.
These years they play in the Champions League,
McDuff’s eyes glisten at Sudan’s war scores.
So it goes.

© Bryan Murphy 2008

Notes

I didn’t like the guy but, on reflection, I admire his courage.

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