Listen to the poem here:
At the watery border
of three countries,
one eliminated early
and two in the running,
tethered to thick trees
the floating house
with foundations of gators
strains on its moorings
so the satellite rocks
and the football flickers.
Swinging in hammocks
watching the World Cup
on dodgy reception
with six macaws
feathered in fan strip,
blue, yellow, red,
Colombia’s colours,
men swig shots of cane-hooch
and shout at the screen,
when Colombia scores
or the crowd as a whole hollers
gol! gol! gol!
yell the loyal macaws.
Outside on the verandah
the world’s biggest rat
the pig-size chiguero ‘s
almost wholly devoured
the national team calendar
and a black boy in blonde wig,
El Pibe Valderrama’s curls,
balancing on felled floating timber
on currents full of piranhas
boots his World Cup ball
from his log to his sister’s
who gets her own yellow wig
under her brilliant header
of the, till then dry, ball into the flood
of the Amazon where it swirls
and bobs from Colombia to Peru
past pink dolphins and sawmill
through rubber trees on to Brazil
and the downstream fish market
where a black-scaled fish just sliced
in six still writhing slices
bloods the white marble and a priest
makes grunting gourmet noises
under a glass Parisian roof
where non-fan flocks of parrots,
untrained for the touchline,
fly like a curtain over the glazing,
team jerseys shredded to pixels
showering from shouted at screens,
a cloudburst of dazzle and hue
over Colombia, Brazil, Peru.
Sideways Station 