As self-appointed Poet in Residence, I thought I’d mark the return of the Mighty Blues to some sort of pitch related activity. Mixed in with the intrigue of team composition and tactics for the upcoming season is sadness that Joe has gone and done himself no good signing on for Liverpool of all places.
Thus the following piece contains a certain wistful sadness at spurned love. For I feel spurned by Joe.
But hey ho on we go.
(Editor’s note – As the many lovers of his work will know, BB is a railway enthusiast. This is the first piece by BB to feature a reference, in the penultimate stanza, to the newly opened and refurbished East London Line, running from Dalston in his beloved Hackney to lots of obscure and scary bits of South London, including Crystal Palace. It is a most wondrous contribution to the world of the permanent way. Anyone wanting to know a bit about the history of this line should visit PeteW’s excellent website The Great Wen. I believe he lives in the great darkness that is South London.)
Alice From The Palace
She said her name was Alice,
When she lured me down the “Palace”,
With the promise of a frolic,
One July.
I was full of expectation,
And not a little tribulation,
So brought something alcoholic,
And a pie.
It was all a bit pre-season,
The effort left me wheezin’,
The weather made me shaky,
It was hot.
I offered her a portion,
She enquired of me, with caution,
“Is the pastry flaky?”
It was not.
The food approach discarded,
I felt almost yellow carded,
And had to watch my tackle,
Or get red.
I employed some pass and move,
To try and find the groove,
Anticipation all a-crackle,
In my head.
As she gave a little swerve,
I summoned all my nerve,
Oh! I think about this sad day,
Even yet.
Low down my hand stroked hair,
Joy! Followed by despair,
‘Cause the soft and silky fur lay
On her pet.
The cat howled loud and ran,
‘Twas the nemesis of my plan,
I left with deep depression,
In my soul.
Down the road at Selhurst Park,
A brief light shone in my dark,
As the Bison took possession
What a goal.
By train to Dalston I reflected,
How my heart felt so neglected,
Yet brought with it no malice,
To my house.
For as I walk life’s rocky way,
I know there’ll be another day,
But really hope she’s not an Alice,
Or a scouse.
