the football season is back; hooray – so here’s a poem i’ve written about Alan Pardew, the clown who manages my team, Newcastle United -:


imagine Pards reclining, recumbent on a floating barge,

a gaudy sun hat over his closed eyes,

as you punt down the River Cam


imagine Pards, stripped to the waist,

lips pouting as he blinks coquettish eyes over his left shoulder;

he wants you


imagine Pards in a tuxedo, naked from the waist down,

with a rose between his teeth,

dancing to “Sexual Healing”


imagine Pards: nude, glistening, oiled, damp,

warm and inviting, on a sheepskin rug in the lounge,

proffering a glass of Prosecco


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