Marcelo Leaves Leeds Poem by Stephen Roe

The litter floats around the Thorpe arch pitches unattended.
The line of paint from his flat to the training ground is fading.
The Argentinian tea and biscuits left outside his door remain.
The married women who confessed her love for him, has since cried again.

Away from the rain he paces inside the plane
Back and forth he cannot look away now
His back is spasming the seat too high,
It's just standard class
We cannot say goodbye

There are 36 different ways home from the airport
He knows every single one but cannot choose.
Rosario in the spring should feel more welcoming
So why cannot he not choose?

All the English he now learnt is coiled up around his tongue
All the English and Italian he learned but never showed
Just feels numb, it numbs his brain.
When his focus should be on the next game!
We cannot say goodbye

He flies over the physio room he'll never again
Put his head around and ask after:
Phillips, Bamford, Cooper
How long until they are ready to play his way again

But he know's himself about the end
The hero's of yesterday Hernandez, Berardi
Cursed by the loss of their ability, agility and their decaying frames
Never able to grace the field again
But we will stay waiting

Because the next game is the one
The one we've been waiting for, for so long
The perfect pass, and the perfect passage of play
That Marcelo had coached all day and every day -

Is about to be played.
And that's why Marcelo we will stay waiting
And that's why Marcelo
We will never say goodbye.