Have a Kit Kat

 

Have a Kit Kat

 

June 2026 and Beckham’s face plastered everywhere -

because those old walls need a bit of pointing,

cracks in the tiles, needs a flat finish – you’re aware

it’s just wound down, but could flare

up again at any time – and not forgetting baggage squatting

implacably, eyes glued to Not the Nine O Clock Cup

whilst around and about its head the rotting

carcass of shagpile brings flies in need of swotting.

Denmark? A canker of the ear, part of you needs to stay here,

whilst another needs rest, aches for an achy breaky break -

have a kit kat - and all that for goodness sake

stuff – but they don’t package it for nails now,

no innards to push or tin foil to slit before you chow

down – just ubiquitous cheap plastic wrap.

It boils in your dreams when you take a nap,

Gary Lineker’s sweating forehead and cheeky grin,

boss – have a word with him -

Beckham slotting that last-minuter in

between the sticks - before pulling out of a tackle -

metatarsal - Ronaldinho Gaucho - the woodwork rattles

and we’re down .and out once again.

They said next year will be easier, good things coming

like the sun rising behind the disused tin gasometers

take a thermometer, check room temperature

and you’ll see that what was once has gone

but something tells you there could be better songs

to sing than this one – and how will she fare?

Left behind with time zones - a two hour delay

until after five days, her turn will come, she ups, flies away.

But when the hands on the clock strike ding, ding, ding –

and everyone stops for tea – you’re left munching

on Kit Kats over what next year might bring.