We were middle class tough

My friends and I

Wielding our penknives and scars

Attempting to perfect the

Knife trick from Aliens

The less adept

Practicing with sticks

In the dirt

Never quite gutsy enough

To do it properly

I didn’t get in trouble

That time I stole out of date

Beer from our shed

Probably did my Dad a favour

Flatter than the tyres of the abandoned car

We drank it on

Flatter than the national team performance

That saw us humped and pumped

To an inevitable first round exit