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That time I stole out of date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
