World Cup Blues

Stop all alarms, cut off the world outside,
Remind the
Jocks, now gloating, that England qualified,
There'll be no
Great Escape from a silenced drum:
Bring on the inquest, let
the pundits come.

Let sports reporters circle
bemoaning what went wrong
Scribbling that, of course, they
knew the outcome all along,
Take down the flags and bunting,
for now our mood is bleak,
Put away the England shirt that
cost so much last week.

This was my Life, my Dream,
my Vindaloo,
My working week and my weekend too,
My
early morning kick-off, my talk of what I'd seen:
Now there's
just the hopeless thought of how things might have been.


The stars are now extinguished: put out every one,

They went for the moon, but ended up dissected in the Sun,

Throw away the wallchart, adopt a sad demeanour:

Lie low and think of England, but remember Argentina.