Wimbledon 2008

I watch the Wimbledon final -
it’s Federer v. Nadal
Feddy’s grunts are to die for -
his opponent’s a femme fatale.

We watch as victory ebbs away
from one of them at least.
The balls are wild and dangerous –
who could tame the beast

within these two heroic men,
who prance about the court?
A question I can’t answer,
but someone really ought

to find a good solution
to the problem that I pose,
or else a sporting anarchy
will win over all of those

who strain each nerve and sinew
just to be the best,
hold the world to ransom,
ignoring all the rest

of us who’d rather sit here
watching, on the telly,
gargantuan feats of purpose,
with which I fill my belly.