Howlin' Mad Wind
The game's over.
The wind madly howled,
I cursed and growled,
And buried my sweaty head in a towel.
The wind had a distracting noise like a snare drum
Hit by fast hand. Its bitterness made me numb.
Manager said 'Wind killed us against the scum.'
We'd spit, and it would shoot like missiles mid-air,
Fly around everywhere.
Spit into the wind? You shouldn't dare.
We'd kick a ball straight, and it would curl and spin.
From when the match did begin,
We were beaten, by the howlin' mad wind.
poem by A.J. Ryan
Added by Poetry Lover
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