The dreaded penalty shoot out

I'm (still) writing a poem every day during the World Cup. This is the inevitable poem about the inevitable penalty shoot out.

The dreaded penalty shoot out

It would be brave
to watch this game without a book by your side.

By half time you've already snoozed for fifteen minutes
and on your third cup of tea and second dinner

and after the ad breaks
you've never been so keen to do housework

you volunteer to do the hoovering
anything to drown out the sound of vuvuvzelas

and Jim Beglin. You make tomorrow's sandwiches
for everyone who lives on your street

wrap them in tin foil and post them through every letterbox
and hope everyone likes corned beef

and in extra time you can't wait to scrub the hob
because there's no TV in the kitchen

you clean behind the fridge
and wonder if it's too late to mow the lawn

or take all that wood in the garage to the skip
and by the second half of extra time

the house has never looked so immaculate
Mr Pledge and Mr Muscle kick back with a beer

after a job well done
and the commentator says 'Well nobody likes to see a penalty shoot out'

but if that's the case why are we all still watching?
We need to be put out of our misery

we've got stuff to get on with.