I came out of lockdown

For those feeling weird in weird times.

I came out of lockdown

unimaginably

grateful for the opportunity

speaking fluent

having refurbished my rage

as Detective Inspector, congratulations,

with a side-splitting routine about sides splitting

and a ground-breaking anti-novel

with attachment issues

awarded 2020’s Gadget of the Year, with a whopping 20 hours of public life

unfortunately

not drowning but third-waving

postponing an inquiry

upside out and inside down and

unlikely

unskilled

unready

for coming out of lockdown,

unlocked

and that’s about it.

Kroenke out (in poem form)

You can see more about what I'm referencing below here and here.

Statues

tell a story of what people did.

It’s why a defender of note
still saunters round the North Bank,
his work done.
It’s why we all bow to a king on his knees,
and why we hold our breath
for the eternity a Dutchman creates
to welcome the ball home.

It’s why a boy studies a ball next to a bridge

that he built.
It’s why our greatest fan,
whose love gave us everything,
sits inside a stadium
that he built,
and why a favourite selfie companion of legacy fans,

young and old,
stands back and takes in
a club
that he built.

And it’s why, one day,
two separate bricks,
connected only by a moustache,

will sit somewhere,
out of the way
but never forgotten.

A fitting tribute
to a famous man

who built nothing.