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that cardboard box was my home

Desmond Choot

Wednesday, November 5th, 2003

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 some strikers
like to consider the penalty box, as their rightful home
they boss it, they frequent it at will
they clean up, when others spill
and the rewards, at the very top, are commensurate
with the untold joy that they bring
(funny phrase that, for it seems to me,
that the fans unite in one joyous telling
when they celebrate en-masse
with their choir like yelling)

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 but a certain sodden cardboard box
in a wet November road
was my home, my abode
my respite from the wind and the rain
it wasn’t just my dreams, tossed and blown
and yeah, I walk alone
I’m not available for contact by phone
and my joints stiffen, as I lie there prone
rueing my luck, the decisions I’ve made,
the choices I’ve spurned, the chances proffered by others
and all because, an addled mind, couldn’t connect
to what some call the ‘real world’
a ‘people world’, a ‘team world’ – I just don’t fit

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 I’ll not meet many a footballer :
I’d recognise them if I did
for I cuddle up to them at night
their image, is my pillow
the print, is my mascara
the copy, copious in it’s eulogising
is my bed time reading
but I’ll not be apologising
if someday I go to them cap in hand
they might just consider, my misfortune
if it’s ever them, I importune

© Des T Choot

Notes

thinking ‘outside the box’

this poem is a response to the poem :
‘Cardboard box brings on Football Poem’, by Pen Baits

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/that-cardboard-box-was-my-home/