The sky is cast in winter grey,
the forum set on a lesser stadium.
A sodden field for thwarted dreamers
to become peacocks for the duration.
Exhibiting colours in a pointless display,
chasing a goal they will never achieve.
Defying with gusto their beer bellied fate
to justify an outrageous imagination
for ninety minutes one day a week
of Sunday league football
and mandatory GBH.
While she watches,
unimpressed by the testosterone trail
of posturing peacocks playing in the rain.
Feigning interest in ball, boots and mud
she smiles as he passes punching the air,
hugs herself in a solo embrace
and breathes through the coil of his colours.
Slowly mortifying from the feet upwards,
she dreams of meat and two veg.

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