Poems: Mr 15% By Paz Bassra

Mr 15%

Money talks, Money speaks.
A dark shadow in a tailored Armani suit.
Mr 15% on his phone hustling for loot.

Playing talks, Playing speaks.
A star admired by fans should feel complete.
Caps and awards, he literally has the world at his feet.

Money screams, Money shouts.
Money hits him in the face before he can blink.
International call-up, tapping-up with a wink.

Players talk, Players speak.
An unfathomable wage for doing what one loves is unique.

Contracts don’t talk, Contracts don’t speak.
A different man kissing the club badge every week.

Money talks, Player speaks.
“This project was too fantastic an opportunity to turn down.”

12 months later it’s,
“I had to get out of there before that club drowned.”

Fans talk, Fans speak.
“How ungrateful is that mercenary?!”

Mr 15% talks, Mr 15% speaks.
“We’ll move you to Spain for another 5 grand per week.
You’ll get 2 million in fees, everything’s going so sweet!”

Player leaves, Player moves.
Player never settled and the team continued to lose.
World Cup was looming and he had to choose.

Player spoke up, Player said,
“It’s back to where I came from to stay ahead.”

Player left, Player out in the cold.
Washed-up by 32 and really that’s not too old.

Mr 15% is done with you.
He has found the next pair of prodigious hooves.

Off to your debts and lament the lost chance of greatness.
Remember those days when we chanted . . .
and you were more than just infamous.

By Paz Bassra (@PazBassra on Twitter)

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