1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Saturday afternoon spent in bed.
Our eyes had tuned in
Over a clothes rail in Miss Selfridge
And, conversations about size 12’s,
Empire lines,
And the size of her bum
Were forgotten.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 An hour later,
She padded away;
Unblushingly naked,
To quench the thirsts of exertion.
Leaving me,
Indolently lolling on the bedsheets
And full of windmill thoughts.
Blithely, I glanced at the face
Of the nonchalant alarm:

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 In a spasm of incoherent fumbling
The mute radio finally found a voice;
Infuriatingly lingering over the unimportant scores
Involving Arsenal and Liverpool,
Before, eventually, giving way
To the nail-biting, nerve-jangling panic
Of mid-table mediocrity.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 West Bromwich Albion

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Double take at the radio.
Stunned silence.
The steel-sharp shafts of recognition.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 As she entered the room,
Nursing a coffee into bed
She silently reflected
How unattractive
A man dancing naked around the bedroom
Can really be.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/seven-nil/