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The Game
There was a day once
when the factory boys
took to a rusty van
driving through the early morning dark
to play soccer on a muddy field.
Our team was called. now let me think,
does it matter that I cannot remember?
Let's call our crew the 'Raging Eagles'.
the Eagles had pimples and bad breath,
but we were all mates for the day.
It's not easy to 'rage' on a rutted field
in the middle of an industrial estate
on a misty Sunday, but we did our best.
The other team arrived full of snarky-jeers and leers.
Insults were returned, added to and sent back.
The game was more a donnybrook than
regular soccer.
Rules were made up on the fly
only to be broken.
Legs were kicked black and blue,
one arm and a head diagnosed by one and all
as totally for33ked.
Later we convened to a pub
at the other end of that sooty town
and downed a few, then a few more,
vowing to be brothers forever.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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