G.B

I saw George Best

on a bench today
he was leaning forward
legs crossed
all angles, elbows and joints
smoking
spittle grey beard
straggle haired
I stopped the car
and shouted :
"George"
he nodded knocking accidental ash from ciggy
"were has the magic gone?"
he looked up
dropped the dog end
it fell in a floating spiral
with one touch of his knee
one twist of his hip
the Strettford End rose
the gasp before...
toe to ball
past man after stock still man
looped the ball over Wilson
as the match was lit
pandemonium ensued.
Sparks hit the floor
George said :
"Andy were's yours?"
I flickered through the reel
trawled the back catalogue
looked at my disshevelled hair
my bruised arms
and said:
"George, I never found it"

Andy Scotson

Today's offering is from regular Poetry Space supporter Andy Scotson. I thought it would entertain...