We, the underside
Never play at home
Our terraces are wastelands
Sirens, pitch perfect
Signal fouls

We, the underside
Have few fixtures
little chance of transfer
No goals and
Fewer keepers

We, the underside
The team that you forgot
To support
Have given up chasing
Promotion or fame
We’re third division
Relegation prospects
Playing in a final
Every day of our lives
Against a team of referees
And linesmen
With CCTV eyes
And the band of the Royal
Fucking Marines
Playing Land of Hope
And Glory on
Their Wembley turf

We, the underside
Wait patiently to be
Stretchered off to
Wait on
Crowded benches
Red carded
Discarded
In the first round

We, the underside
Don’t recognise your rules
Of fair play –
On side, off side
Handball, your ball
Booted up
We take the kicks
End to end
First half, every half
On the head, in the head
To the head
Half back, full back
All back
Injury time is for wimps

We, the underside
Know the score
The no score draw
The two by four

We, the underside
always walk alone

© David Hermelin 2016