Football Poets

The finishing line

After 38 editions of private teeth clenching
Month after month of emotional investment
The Premier League finishing line finds
Its final bend, the last chicane, the gallop to
The post. It has indeed gone to the line
Neck and neck
City and Liverpool
Hard to choose
City would seem to hold the aces
And should burst through the tape
With adoring hymns ringing in their ears
For a moment, recalling another Bell,
Sturdy, tireless, running himself into the
Ground, Colin, here, there and everywhere
Mike Summerbee, Rodney Marsh, Francis Lee
When football met Pannini stickers
In a delightful rendezvous next to the
Maine Road faithful
But today’s City are more than upright
Citizens, more commanding lieutenants
Sergeant majors of today’s platoon
Smartly attired men on the parade grounds
Of City’s 21st century generation
Now the palette holders of today
Raheem Sterling, still conjuring,
Jesus, almost religious but certainly
A man with that mystical aura
About him, scoring goals and
Answering prayers
But then Merseyside could
Still be the architects of their
Own triumph again
Like the artwork at the Sistine
Chapel, frescoes
Of timeless beauty,
Heralds of future
Greatness since 18
Old First Division titles
Remain impeccably beyond
Reproach
And finally one Premier League title
To boot, another flourish from the
Fountain pen
That underlined the
Anfield signature
But Klopp can become
The sainted one, holier
Than thou
The figure of reverence
That Bill Shankly became
Worshipped by those
Who never stopped believing
In the wholesome ideals
Of past deeds
Faithful followers
Fidelity was never in doubt
Sadio Mane, Jordan Henderson,
Virgil but not the one from Greek
Mythology but a defender of some
Value, weight and substance
It could be the year of years
For Liverpool to snatch
Back their Premier League title
On solemn, then sonorous Sunday
Homages to rousing Jerusalem
The last page of the last chapter
What a pot boiler, a nine month
Labour of love, the season
Ends on a conclusive, percussive,
Note, a thunderous crescendo
The last day of football’s Maypole dance
Oh, Sunday, Sunday.

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