“I really don’t see colour, mate,” says Geoff,
“I mean, I see, but I don’t really mind –
the only black out there today’s the ref
(who, while I’m on the subject, must be blind).
I only come to cheer the mighty Blues,
as – stylishly – they tear the foe to shreds.
Of course, you must expect those jeers and boos
from lowlife scum that all support the Reds!”
“I also don’t see colour, son,” says Death
“Just belts of bullets, sharply named and tagged;
a mound of stained stones, kissed by legions dead;
the lonely fog of cold, expiring breath.
Perhaps a splash before the body’s bagged
at last: red lips turn blue; blue blood flows red.”