An Ode To Soccer Cleats
They came in a box all shiny and new,
Purple, yellow with sides of blue.
Guaranteed to be quick down the field,
The soccer ball they would but wield.
There came a few games middle of the season,
Where it rained buckets without reason.
The girls they did play with mascara in their eyes,
The theory of playing in the rain, none too wise.
The soccer cleats were then stuffed with newspaper,
And started to emit an odorous vapor.
Out came the baby powder and baking soda
Perfume too, but still the bad o-dah.
One soccer bag thrown in the trash,
Another one bought for not much cash.
The smell would linger in the air,
The assault on our noses was so not fair.
And now the last game has been played,
The cleats were awesome, they never strayed.
They kicked and they ran so very fast,
But, oh that smell, they couldn't last.
And so to the trash, those beauties go,
Our noses will be happier, that I know.
The legend of their season will be remembered,
Even as they are being dismembered.
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