Standing on Burnden Terrace
Watching Wanderers
Was an entertainment in itself
If the White Men weren’t behaving
As they should do
A gentle word could certain-elly help
Shortly after kick off
Came a greeting
As initial roars subsided
As if binned
A quiet hush prepared our expectation
‘Show them no mercy!’
Echoed on the wind
And one day you could see
Our defence dividing
A gaping hole appeared
At an attack
The opposition ventured in our area
‘Shut that door!’
Was shouted to the back
The game we come to watch
Is all-consuming
We want the Whites to do so very well
But the folk who stood on terraces
Sometimes fuming
Had stories of their own
And tales to tell
We form our own community
Just standing
And watching White Men
As the evening falls
And going home
We muse on all the memories
And build up hope
For when the next game calls
Brian Fahy
Erris Poetry 