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We played on all weather turf which was mud and a few sods of grass

Dribbled like Pele and Eusebio in old boot for that one killer pass

From straight after school until there was not one single more ray of light

So winter was best with rain hail and frost to young street kid’s delight


Wore grazes and bruises with passionate bounce and knew no bounds


The football was made from real leather with proper stitch and suture

We made goal posts from clothes simply played with no fear for the future

Top bar was imagined so sometimes we argued but had no video assistance

I was small as a goalie but learnt resilience losing single minded persistence


Surely we were cheeky and mischievous but did not cheat in defeat


Imagination grew large from a parallel Universe staked out on the ground

We won penalty shoot outs and World Cups and glorious trophies abound

First prize were liquorice and chocolate which we shared like good folk

On prosperous days my Mom had awarded a couple of bottles of coke


Thirst for knowledge came later but with solid foundations we found solid ground


Nostalgia makes me believe the World was better without fancy equipment

We had balls courage insurmountable energy and unequivocal commitment 

Today some youngster play on garbage dumps heaped high with plastic bags

Knotted into round globes in colonized countries and live in squalid shacks


The planet seems flat covered in inequality skewed and properly screwed


Nowadays FIFA has more member countries than the mask of the United Nations

But the haves of global technology reap money not vision on  play stations

Dressed in designer sports fabric oozing wealth greed and ravenous avarice

Score high scores at the point of destruction which is deceptively glamourous


For the upcoming G20 I suggest that leaders be given red cards and be barred 


The avid reader will note that this poem ends with no formal structure or rhyme

Human conscience and conscious abdication of duty sits unwell with alliteration

Rhythm would allude to the distortion that everything might be in perfect order

If fewer politicians studied at Eton or Harvard not so many would end in trenches

Of legalized wars or crimes against humanity and I would be captain of the team

Football and power games were played with blemishes but compassionate hearts 


The story ends without bare cleats as opium for the masses as pig bladders rule

Whereas corrupt pigs simply can’t fly unless we send them to Guantanamo Bay 



08th June 2019
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