I wondered if you might like to read my poem?

My poem is called ‘Messing About with Air Rifles’

It was just another day at the Chelsea training ground,

Big match this weekend but Ashley was messing around.

“Oi boys look what I’ve got!” he cried full of glee,

And the others ran to come and see.

“Is is porn?” asked Lampard, clapping his hands

“Is it that b*tch with the radioactive tan?”

“No” replied Ashley “Cheryl’s left me, remember?”

He withdrew from his kit bag and holding it tender,

Revealed an air rifle, and (like all proper men)

They tussled and fought, but then,

The work experience kid rocked up, and following tradition,

Spoiled their fun by asking “do you have permission,

To have firearms in the changing rooms?”

But the innocent kid had sealed his doom.

Like all proper lads would’ve done,

Cole raised the barrel of his shiny new gun,

“BANG” he shouted, and the other lads chuckled,

Like over-paid morons happy to talk with their knuckles.

“Give that here” cried the kid, grabbing it from Ashley,

“You can’t be trusted” and then it turned nasty.

And in the following tussle the trouble got bigger,

As poor Ashley accidently pulled the trigger.

As blood poured from work experience kid’s side,

“I didn’t do it” Ashley helplessly lied,

“just like I didn’t sleep with that cocktail waitress,

Ancelotti will be mad and cancel my pay check”

The newspapers will go mental, especially The Sun,

And Cheryl will never forgive what I’ve done.

Another apology, another black mark by my name,

Another month of hanging my head in shame.”

But Lampard sat by him, and, as well as he could,

Comforted him whilst the placement kid lost blood.

“It’s not that bad, though insults will he hurled,

You could be semi-naked in The News of the World,

You could be starkers on some gobby model’s phone,

And still be convincing your ex-Wife to let you back home.”

But as the placement kid lay still, Ashley’s tears started anew,

And Frank said, “but look on the bright side, it was just a .22”

Do you like it?