We are sweat-sweet men
& women lined & packed
in numbered rises above
an unnaturally level field
of manicured turf – every
eye on design-cut shirts –
every well throat primed
to roar – anticipations as
played contact blooms &
finds a scant advantage –
a fading of all hope next –
rises & falls of emperors –
a momentary false 9 god
runs forward – result in a
war [here are dull draws
too often – it is said] – we
return via sardine tins to
quieter homes – win-rich