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When Friday Comes

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 When Friday comes,
I count my thumbs
And watch the houseplants growing.
I read with hope
My horoscope
And wonder if it’s snowing.
I dust the shelf
And make myself
A giant bacon buttie.
It’s comfort food,
I must conclude,
Because there is no footie.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 When Friday comes,
I sweep up crumbs
And polish all door handles.
I trim with flair
My nasal hair
And pick the wax from candles.
I fix again
The window pane
With extra-viscous putty,
But all seems crass
Because, alas,
There isn’t any footie.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 When Friday comes,
I soothe my gums
But still twitch like a rabbit.
I need a fix,
My football fix
Is too much of a habit.
I clean the grate
But such is fate,
I end up charred and sooty,
But I don’t care
‘Bout blackened hair
Because there is no footie.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 When Friday comes,
I work out sums
And listen to the wireless.
The quest to ease
The great disease
Of boredom has been tireless.
I swap some jokes
With other blokes,
Though most are coarse and smutty.
They leave me dumb,
My mind goes numb
Because there is no footie.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 When Friday comes,
The housefly hums,
But I don’t try to chase him.
My son gives cheek,
But I can’t speak,
Nor even bear to face him.
I arch an eye
And wonder why
This chocolate spread tastes nutty,
But in the end
I can’t pretend –
My God, I miss the footie.

7

Notes

God I hate the close season!

Editor’s note :

For the uninitiated – the League of Ireland now operates a summer soccer season, so Peter is going through his DT’s now!

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/when-friday-comes/