Oh overgrown oval so old and lonely
your grandstand full of rotting teeth
scoreboard with the eyes gouged out
goalposts pale and anorexic
your time clock with an amputated hand
tears running down the face of your terraces
the receding hair of your goalsquare
bald patch in the centre of your ground
your seats in the outer are on the outer
they’ll never cheer or dance again in victory
the fractured ribs on your thin picket fence
the perforated eardrum of your siren
the cracked lines on your once perfect skin
your baggy back pocket and sagging flanks
no more streamers laughing in the 5 goal breeze
no more panels drumming to the old club song
no more girls swooning into your forward pocket
no family and friends visiting on weekends
no wind-sock tied to your outstretched arm
your heart no longer bounces wildly in your chest
your team doesn’t live here any more
your players now play at a stadium