Mr. Madarona is DisLetsKick

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 And when I lie awake at night,
Dreaming of the pampas
And the guachos,
Galloping by with their flapping leather trousers
And their dusty sombreros,
Which, I hasten to add, they should not be wearing;
Or when I lie awake, counting all the dripping U Boats,
Beached by the hacienda secret veranda,
Where the Nazi war criminals still carouse
And believe that Tomorrow belongs to them;
Or when I lie awake, dribbling,
Over visions of Fray Bentos corned beef,
Those odd shaped cans,
With the openers that nearly always broke,
No matter what the hunger,
Truly, a metaphor for addiction;
Or, when tossing and turning,
I dream my white line dreams
Of Rattin, Terry Fenwick and Alf Ramsey,
How dare he call us animals;
It is then that I recall those pale blue and white striped shirts
And those endless World Cup victories,
And Ossie Ardiles, the Malvinas, Mrs.Thatcher,
The Belgrano and John Nott’s transfer
To Paris St. Germain;
It’s then that I try to count all those citizens,
The friends of democracy,
The women and men who disappeared in the night,
So that Fascism and Capital could have its way;
It’s then that I turn over on my Bed of Naples,
Suck my thumb,
Cross myself and seek solace
From the Hand of Dog.

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/mr-madarona-is-disletskick/