|

Sunday Morning 10am

Paul Rose

Sunday, April 7th, 2002

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Cold, wet morning, follows late, heavy night
Car Park huddle, feeling like shite
Is the goalkeeper playing, yeah, he probably is,
Last seen in Taxi in a passionate clinch
As deadline approaches, have we enough
Detouring cars go collecting stuff

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Steel grey venue, misty cold, wet,
Distant locals stuggle with the net,
Changing rooms gloomy with patches of damp,
Images of German wartime camp

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Warm up starts, try a half hearted stretch and jog
Odd players drift in from out of the fog,
Goalmouth huddle, then a drift of smoke,
Sniggers and giggles, harsh banter, a joke
One peals away locating a tree,
Followed by others who all need to wee

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Any sign of the Ref, no, then the Fat kid will do
Anorak on, jeans tucked into his shoe
An inaccurate timepiece, no cards or flags,
Mobility, legality, ability he lacks,
As options are limited, there’s no orderly queue,
Lack of candidates, means that it’s you

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Kicking off, with a hump, crash and thud
The beautiful game’s got lost in the mud
An honourable draw, trudge back to the hut,
Manager’s moaning and doing his nut

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 A wipe with a towel, jump in the car
In ten minutes time, we’ll be back in the bar
Recalling glories of chances scored and missed
Joking and laughing as we get slowly pissed

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/sunday-morning-10am/