The poem that might never be read

Frank’s been told he must put out
A poem for the Friday bout,
Though how is he to know at all
That we’ll get through against Fingal?
The march of time, alas, can’t wait,
Although it seems like tempting fate
To spend time on poetic labours
Before we’ve even played our neighbours.
Logistically, we must assume
We’ve banished our post-season gloom
By raining on Fingal’s parade
(Before the game is even played.)

In order that we get this straight,
I think I should elaborate.
The printer needs the copy quite
A few days prior to Friday night.
You cannot simply send it them
At one or maybe two pm
And hope that they will turn it round
Before the first fan’s in the ground.

So Frank has asked that we should write
Our bits before the Tuesday night,
Though as he says with some dismay,
They might not see the light of day.
So, if anybody’s reading this,
Then Tuesday night was full of bliss
And it’s to our untold delight
We have this match on Friday night.

However, if we lost instead,
This poem will remain unread
And, like a tree that makes no sound
When falling, and no-one around,
It will not matter if it scans
Or rhymes or has metaphors or any of the other things so beloved by poetry fans.
.

As it happened, Frank never had to produce a programme. Shels lost 2-0 at home to Sporting Fingal in the play offs