Mansions scream out. Tents
hide beneath the canopy.
Light rails dart above.
Tag: Poems
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Bengay fills the air.
Mangled meniscus, chilled bones.
Ailments won’t stop us.
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Frosted morning grass.
Rusted goalposts stand alone.
First twenty two play.
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Jack-O-Lanterns rot.
Red bellied squirrels wander.
Dortmund four points clear.
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THE Spanish derby.
The difference? Joaquín. Had the squad rapt, reciting some pre-match poetry and asking are they not entertained?
Comes on, scores the winning header.
The mayor has spoken.
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El Cholo. All black everything. Black shirt, black tie…
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That #7 shirt looks tailored for Philippe.
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Match Day 25
Antoine Griezmann is a #19. He holds the ball up like a hulking #9 and playmakes between the lines like a #10.
Shot out to IBWM on the background.
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Match Day 24
I already miss my first sips of coffee at kickoff with Jorge Perez-Navarro yelling “It’s soooccccer timeeeeeeee.”
I already miss William Carvalho trotting around Portugal’s midfield with a Ballon d’Or worthy stache’
And I already miss Saturday morning pickup soccer. When the World Cup hums on in the background of our lives, we all play with an extra bit of pep.
Floodlights and Goalposts 