Getting a Kick (Out of You)

 

Getting a Kick (Out of You)

 

The air keeps running out of it like an insect

trapped between your legs and jeans,

who knows what, a louse, a flea? Possibly,

but to investigate this fully would mean

scratching your blunt fingers in between,

so let’s bear it in a futile pressing of cloth.

Anyway, this football cost, and he insisted,

put your hands in pockets, your arm twisted

although here’s cheaper ones available,

Grandson. Now of course it bloody leaks,

a couple of good kicks, it’s mud streaked

and flatter than a Lincolnshire care home.

Well, you can’t kick ball to each other alone,

and this one’s keen, learning new tricks

daily, and here’s old Grandad keeping pace,

managing the odd jog and panting face,

congratulating all those stepovers and flicks,

waiting for days he runs onto the Bernabeu,

and on his Barca shirt it’s written somehow.

Strange, at his age, I wasn’t awful keen,

dreamt of playing bass or penning books,

less about the football, more about the hooks,

but I could never deflate young dream to score

so, let's pump this ball and puff some more.