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Striker

Jon Tait

Wednesday, March 18th, 2009

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The sharp metal chink of trowel on brick
deftly slapping down a new course of grey compo
scraped from a plastic bucket by
those lime-calloused fingers
and you’d never have thought
that a man in blue overalls with such quick hands
could also have such skilful feet
with a white ball on the green turf.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 A brief rumble of approval
a yellow Metro train passing through
an underground station
as the ball crashes into the roof of the net
like discarded trawlermen’s lobster pots
on the harbour at Seahouses
& shakes the rainwater free with a dull swish.

Notes

Editor :Great Northern wind and maybe sea-swept imagery in your poems Crispin..

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