United Untied
¶ 1
Leave a comment on verse 1 0
Moyes paces the touchline bug-eyed
as Man U pass the ball to death:
sideways, backward, anywhere but forward.
Going nowhere fast, Moyes’ face
getting grimmer and grimmer,
grey like the sky over Old Trafford;
theatre of dreams virtually silent,
tuneless without Rooney,
Evans and Evra creaking in defence,
Van Persie bereft up front,
no class or guile in midfield.
Clatter of empty seats
for the second time in a week
as the punters vote with their feet.
Clamour against Moyes and his boys
reaches fever pitch.
Comments
0 Comments on the whole Poem
Create an account to leave a comment on the whole Poem
0 Comments on verse 1
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 1