team talk
¶ 1
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knees blooded & black with clarts: moist
troops in the reek of liniment & smoke:
¶ 2
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the gaffa is steaming, hoofing the kit-bag,
eyes shooting daggers at les, the keeper.
¶ 3
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four whole minutes of dry-mouth silence,
then tommy explodes: absolute shite!
¶ 4
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every last one of you is playing like a turd!
& you les! you’re playing worse than shite!
¶ 5
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& us, just slouched, like thirsty leaves,
like heavy corn glimpsing the scythe.
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