Here's 204 words...
We Haven’t Got Super Kieran McKenna
We haven’t got super Kieran McKenna.
I don’t know exactly what this means.
To the Prem, he took us back.
Again. We did not lack
special occasions, pitch invasions, dreams.
It’s seems, we’d gone from 20 years of best laid plans that hurt
to a town full of Town fans, proud in a Town shirt.
Dirt, sweat, hard work.
A ship turned around
and a lighthouse blinking through the murk.
Soon, many a vanquished enemy over land and sea
on his CV; Hull at home, away at Coventry and Barnsley.
Going mental at Sarmiento, Saints at home.
Even doubling the scum, bubbling, fun.
It’s fun when your dreams, like Philogene, can roam.
But all good things that gods send must end.
The perfect blend… is always on loan.
So with cracks in voices, dust in the eyes and lumps in the throat
we must push the life raft from the boat
and by ourselves, float.
Accept the implausible plot twist,
like Murder, She Wrote.
And note that he will be missed,
I insist, by the pros and rows at Portman Road.
From highs to lows.
We just need to figure out, now
where the statue goes. [Post edited 19 Jun 11:29]
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