161. bended like Beckham
we would go up to my Gran’s
every Saturday
& when we were old enough
to catch the bus on our own,
my brother & me would walk up
from Trinity Street,
past the block of flats where lived
Aunt Anne pang bear
with my Uncle Jack, a black piano,
and Father Christmas,
past the pie factory
& turn the corner at the laundry
& press on up through the wasteland
that was post-war Dresden.
– all the back-to-backs flattened
to make way for something sinister
called progress.
and I spied
a lonesome plastic bucket lying there
on the cobbled street –
a sleeping beauty, awaiting it’s moment of glory
– & the exultation shout of Goal !!!!!!!
as it would soar up into the air & disappear
beyond the blue.
The long & furious run-up taken –
the slap, slap, slap of leather on stone
and
and
and….. Jeez !
it’s full of bloody concrete !
55 megatons expended
– and it didn’t budge an inch.
Thanks for that – whoever you are.