They Lost

The 'pull in' is lined with cars, limp scarves droop sadly out of windows.
As the battle weary warriors make the long journey home.
It wouldn't have been long enough if they had won, but:
They lost.

Solemn faces pushing hard against wide coach windows,
seeing only the night and the cock-a-hoop sneers at the factory gate.
It's a whip 'round for petrol.
Shouldn't have had so many beers on the way up!
You see, they just couldn't lose, but:
They did.

In the motorway cafe, a Father consoles his son; "the best team won".
Young waitresses peep from behind a vending machine,
frightened to ask "what was the score?"
As yet another coach pulls in and slowly almost like prisoners of war,
one by one, the lads file out.
They lost.

The cockneys impose a temporary take-over.
Got to find some consolation in this hundred mile retreat.
Despondent epitaphs are mumbled through mouthfulls of tea and toast.
And the word passes 'round; "someone's 'alf inchin' scoth eggs"
But nobody really wants to know.
They lost.


CapabilityRed aprox May 1981