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Wish list, for the day that’s in it :
Breakfast in bed
full of World Cup capers
tea on tap
until the belly
is ready for beer
zapper polished and primed
to up the volume
as the sway of the Samba beat
reaches a crescendo.
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Dad does breakfast – for everyone.
a day at the beach
so be it.
Maybe no sweet toothed smile
by the winning smiles, of sweetly bairns
and a chance to show them
flicks and tricks, Brazilian style
with sand between the toes
and every part of the body a point of reference
for the juggling act.
But of course, these days, it’s all in the mind –
the brain can visualise it
but the body wobbles like a jellyfish
and the only crescendo
is from the shells that touchline the shore
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The ball is thread
Thru to Fred
And being Brazilian
There can be no doubting
The inevitability of the finish –
But I’m having a problem with the scorer;
My one and only pet was Fred the goldfish
And he was no Billy the fish
My old man’s mate was Fred
And he neither looked like, nor claimed to be, the footballing type
A plumber I once used, was Fred
A mechanic who once stitched me up, was also Fred –
But Fred the forward?
Fred, flair and fluidity, doesn’t gel, on paper.
But it could be, that Fred will be key
What with Ronaldo & Adriano misfiring.
Kaka is the ignition
But he needs some spark to get the motors running.
Start rite? said Fred