Fortune Green Cemetery



Bingo leads us to the grave.
I look up at the angel’s face
In a silent scream of sorrow.

Bingo sniffs the angel’s toes.
The same face now cries
from the wet of a dogs nose.

A comically horrific expression
testifying to the tragedy of death.
I pull Bingo as he lifts his leg.


Dad gives me an introduction.
“This is George
Met him here a few weeks ago”

He’s enshrined; flowers,
a scarf of red and white,
And a laminated collage of
players past and present.

Dad puts his hand on my head.
Maybe to make sure I see George.
Maybe to make sure I still exist.

There’s one picture of him
And he’s in the full kit.
Smiling, muddy on the pitch.

Nineteen seventy nine-
Nineteen ninety six.
“I like to talk to him”

I look at the grave and
Wait for dad to say more
“What do you talk about?”
Three games from the title

 “I just tell him the scores”