the great white hope

(for Grandad)

Bromley’s great white hope still

nips down the left flank,

only this time from his armchair.

He still runs the right backs into

the carefully-mown ground,

But now with a good book,

a ramble, and a pint of ale.

The great white hope,

Who once knocked on top-flight doors,

Only really now nips to the loo.

But his memories retain colour, vitality.

His world of touchline dashes,

of whipping in crosses from the wing,

is only that summer afternoon nap away.