Every Two Weeks

Every two weeks all the men disappear,

The pubs are hollow, and filled with beer.

The streets are empty, but there is nothing to fear,

As the air is filled with a distant cheer.

Every two weeks I sit on the fence,

Counting my coppers, need a few more pence.

By the next two weeks I should have just enough,

I’ll go without sweets and all the other kids stuff.

Every two weeks I wish I was tall,

So I could see over the 100ft wall.

I’m sick of this hill; I can’t see nothing from here,

Just the roar of the crowd fills my ear.

Every two weeks I try my luck,

To sneak past the grounds men, behind giants I duck.

They know all my tricks, every two weeks the same fate,

“Not so fast sunny” Then the clank of the gate.

Every two weeks I’m like a prisoner who’s free,

Every street to myself, but there’s nothing to see.

All that I want is beyond that wall,

Just to see my heroes chase each ball…

…Now two weeks have passed, I’ve gone without stuff,

I check my pockets; I’ve finally got enough.

I’m as proud as a Lion; it’s been worth the wait,

As I join a million men as we queue at the gate.

Miners & Dockers join the iron foundry grafters,

As the floor disappears as it fills to the rafters.

And a million men anticipate glory,

Will this be the day, or another Dunkirk story.

I’m surrounded by giants; I stretch for a view,

Panic sets in as the whistle is due.

Finally an opening, it as clear a s glass

And the 22 soldiers take their place on the grass.

There's a deafening silence as the whistle starts to scream,

Then a roar like thunder, all eyes to the Green.

A million man chorus fills the ground,

For the next 90 minutes this world don’t turn round.

This is better than I thought, and all that I dreamt,

It took some doin’ but it was money well spent.

Just look at the crowd, now there’s a million and one,

This is the best match ever and only 3 minutes gone.

My eyes fix on the ball through a crack in my glasses,

Like a cat with a fly, I follow all the passes.

I watch the ball cannon through the air; you can hear the thud,

As the ever growing goalie dives deep into the mud.

Opposing goal mouth trenches are where the battles take place,

And between the two trenches, lay fields full of grace.

Pinpoint passes shot with control and skill

To the lightening striker who’s poised for the kill.

The crowd all jump, but just wide the ball goes

And soot from the foundry’s falls from their clothes

A plume of black soot, falls like a dark cloud

Followed by a deflated moan from the crowd.