Football and Nabokov

October 24, 2008 at 8:12 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 8 Comments
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a game of football (played with the feet)
is won in a fundamental harmonic in which
the movement of the ball is in contrast to
that of the players if you catch it
you should pass it,
he limps back to the bench and sits
watches much younger men run run
run with the ball then get buried.
haha bring me more beer,

the ball will fly over the fence eventually to
the feet of the old crone who with claws cast
cackles whilst cauldrons boil it belongs
to me now she says with painted nails
on each one a different animal embroidered

loops into the top corner cos there’s a lot
more at stake here, you fancy spoiled brats.
we don’t pay you to pose and dive in front
of 60,000 fans and billions on tv, son,
trust me, without making it worth your while,

I’ll tell you something Nabokov knows
civilisation is a suit of clothes,

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