' I wuz innocent' he cries,
his hands upraised in righteousness,
the gun still smoking in his right hand,
a handful of his opponent's shirt in his left,
his arm smeared with mud from the ball's illicit touch,
his boot toecapped in the sunlight,
gleaming wet with his rival's blood
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-comment-on-the-ethics-of-millionaire-footballers/
