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Glory Boys

Yes, this sound of thousands
Could inflict such wounds
Such Goliath goal-mouth dreams

See, there on their muddied knees
Brown hands are praying deeds
Song after song

As supplicants at this altar grass
Worry seems lost, though still
In the bone-crushed sky

One boy ties a lace, another
Knows his place and receives
Nail after nail

The field is smooth as baize
Unhurt by the tide or agony's trace
Of spot-lust years to come

These boys are moving on
Something twisted, wistful, gone
Boot after boot

The dream beyond the self
Was a roar, not steel, not heat
Not life punched into dust.

© David Incoll 2001

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Copyright by David Incoll 2001