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Down the mine all week,
The boy with nutty-slack hair
And glittering, coal-black eyes,
Plays football on Saturday afternoons.
Emerges, pit-pony like,
Blinking in the light,
Sniffing the winter air;
Pawing the sparse green turf.
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The coin spins, gleaming, falls,
Sparks the subcutaneous glow,
Releases the flickering flame,
Nourished, flourishing in air,
It flares, soars, with his smoky breath.
He captures the leather-laced ball,
Drives it forth, running, weaving, all alight,
Searing the pitch, flaming the field.
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Crouched in the cramped tunnel of teenage desire,
Watch him burn free,
The boy from the pit,
Playing football, on Saturday afternoon.
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