from The Beautiful Game
4. Something for The Weekend
Football is sex. When Beckham rammed that YEEEEEES
Down the crowd’s throat (with Campbell about to mount
Him behind) having opened his account
With England, and swivelled his hips like a lech
Because he’d scored with a country, no less,
The earth was moving for us all (our doubts
Stripped off, the World’s Cups in our grasp like founts
Of milk and honey) and joined our nakedness.
Sex at its very best, for what is sex
But love, or God, without the permanence,
A crude attempt at ending loneliness?
And what is football but a lonely crowd
Trying to score, a fallen Man, united,
Icarus over the moon and standing proud.
Thanks, David.
2 comments:
Thank you, Gareth. It is always a pleasure hearing you perform your poetry too. A good night at Folkspot recently. Playing triangle with you [backing Mike Prior, with you on bodhran] will remain a treasured memory. By the way, I specially liked your "Something For The Weekend". I've just read it again and found things I missed. The boy done good.
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