Football Feasts Poem by Mark Heathcote

Each Boxing Day we get our quota of football feasts
Presided over by the usual referees
Making nonsensical and ludicrous decisions
Throughout the top, mid and lower table divisions.

But at least they now have some goalmouth technology,
No more disallowed goals that awful atrocity
Of going back home, knowing you've been, sadly, cheated
Heading back to cold turkey totally - defeated.

Sitting back to watch the TV repeats - repeated
In your new dressing gown so happily cosseted
A whisky in one hand and cigar in the other
Sitting by the fire; orange coals burning umber.

Falling asleep in your armchair replaying the game
You score all the goals; take all the accolades the fame.