ODE TO WAYNE ROONEY (REVISED)

Ode to Wayne Rooney
by Yago S. Cura


Maybe, Rooney’s a wallop physicist
with poppy-seed eyes, Captain England
inside the cavernous gun range.

Perhaps, Rooney’s a shy statistician,
a shylock prawn, a litigant against the Sun
for libel and defamation, an adolescent-plated
street arab with size-up on the mind.

I think we can all agree, Rooney’s a carnivore,
the stevedore of an Integrated Torque Cannon,
occupant of a Man U oxygen tank, and
harnesses a Howitzer caliber despite
his metatarsals.

My man Rooney marquise the poise
of a druid transmitting Control Totem:

An amplitude of control past
mere absorption of the balón.

Rooney’s repertoire includes chipping it
over goalies’ heads when they forget themselves
in relation to the skirmish in play,

And lambasting a barrel-down, zero-tolerance
policy against whomever stands in the arco
the transcept, the pulpit and the lintel.

He plays like an ambitious intern
at the Patent Office where plans for
a Goalie Death Ray are discussed
by querulous agents.