The Final Fall

That moment when he was counted out, forever
When neither bell chime,
Nor wet towel ,
Could raise his life on the canvas, it was time.
Not just for him, but for an era.

The wrestling holds he taught, on each World of Sport, were broken
No more,
And I paused smiled and stopped
Just like I did at four o’clock,
Every Saturday afternoon.

From New Cross, he made grannies irate,
At their Saturday date, by the ringside or fireside,
Their handbags close, and heavily packed, just in case they had to act,
Trusty possessions, to avenge any of Mick’s minor transgressions.
Trumpet fanfare, Dickie Davies’ grin
Then let battle begin.
Who would win was decided in advance
It was not chance
But pre-ordained fate
On our Saturday date
With Giant Haystacks and big Daddy

I’d watch it, with my dad and brother ,on ITV.

The bad guy, slippery and sly
A pantomime villain not as bad as he was painted
As he grappled and feignted
In his battles with Jackie Pallo who knew his worst fears
Mick pleaded with the ref “Not my ears not my ears”
Relishing the crowds anger and hate
On our Saturday date
Even after 92 years
You can still hear the cheers
The battles the hopes

For a man who spent his life on the ropes

For Jane
It’s in the curve of your hips
And your breath on my chest
It’s in the colour of your lips
And the heave of your breasts
It’s in the grasp of your fingers
As we walk down the street
It’s in the perfume that lingers
Every time that we meet
It’s in the graze of your palm
And the soles of your feet
Its in the pace of our walk
As we amble along
It’s in the midnight talk
And our wailing song
It nestles in all that is beauty and true
And what of this “it” ? Why it’s just you.

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3 Responses to The Final Fall

  1. jaynestanton says:

    Evokes happy memories of Saturday afternoons glued to the box.

  2. Eugene Egan says:

    Reminded me of the times watching Mick McManus and Giant Haystacks on a Saturday afternoon in front of the T.V. with my nan in the seventies.

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