Sunday Park Footballer
¶ 1
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I have no neon letters
Or golden boots my shirt
Just a little too tight
Has no sponsor’s name
Stitched in wide patterns
My face is unknown
And wears its age
Whilst the memories
Laugh quietly amongst themselves
Winter parks I love best
The last gentle suns of summer
Fall with the leaves of autumn
The new rains come all too soon
And freeze puddles idle and waiting
For the new shoes of children
To disturb their peace
The nets bridle spiders and
Those silver threaded cobwebs
See more than they say
What goals they have witnessed
What injustices committed in the
Name of football
What glories came their way
And yet passed by unheeded
Back down into the silent corridors
Of yesterday.
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