06<
Finisterre

A roasting sun,
fit only for stewing chickens,
beat down on the Parque de la Cruces.
In the stands tracksuited men tick clipboards
while 22 boys scratch after the ball,
weighing the base metal,
sifting for that real, eight-bit escudo:
already counting the currency.

What can we buy, if we put our minds to it?
A boy, happy:
footballing, holidaying, anywhere –
......... Finisterre .........
Such is how lives are lived:
a list is taped to the gates of the Vicente Calderon,
and now some kid
can’t buy new kecks in Madrid.