A Poem For Alfonso Garcia And Other Exotically Named Things To Appear Clever – by Antony Owen


If Paul Jones scored a spectacular goal for the Rose and Crown near Grimsby and kissed five men I would find a poem in the art of men kissing each other like dangerous dogs who kiss their owners after they’ve licked their dangerous arse. If Paul Jones scored a goal and it was written by me I’d say it bounced off his tits and into the goal by accident because Paul Jones was the Mickey Quinn of non-league football but wore a Beckham shirt and shit with the door open as he told his wife how much he loved the lads.

If Paul Jones had a poem written for him by proper folk he would be called Alfonso Garcia and he would not play football or shit but women would float from his kisses like scents of unripe oranges loaded in Sevilla by men who dance with senoritas and half dead bulls for romance. If Alfonso Garcia had a poem written about him by proper poets it would be written with technical brilliance and contain the soul of a blackbird ran over by the purring wheels of poets who drive Jaguars. If Paul Jones had a poem written by some left wing fucker it would be accepted by alternative magazines and that blackbird would be ran over by a prison van where inmates who sang like caged birds would be watching the wonder goal Paul Jones scored and laugh their heads off at the poetry of it all.

If Alfonso Garcia lived in Grimsby he would be selected as a striker by Paul Jones just because he’s skinny and looks the part. Paul would run the whole length of the pitch and get a penalty which Alfonso would insist on taking which Paul lets him as Paul did his bit and that was winning for him. Well this is my poem and it ends with Paul Jones signing up an immigrant player called Kip for a packet of scampi fries and a pint of Carlsberg one night when Paul just saw him as a sound geezer who did twelve keepie uppies after ten pints. Well this is my poem and there was no Alfonso Garcia and other exotically named things to appear clever to cleverer people than me.




Antony Owen is from Coventry and his work usually echoes the plight of vulnerable people caught up in conflict or oppression. He has four collections with a fifth due in 2016 to be translated in Japan about atomic bomb survivors.