Sunda Pangolin

The bell that told all the kids to go play
at break times and lunchtimes or end of the day
would fill me with fear, I would feel all put out
while the other kids happily scuttled away.

I would pray for a rainstorm or fire, a rolling blackout;
prefer that my bully gimme a punch on the snout.
I’d sit through a maths quiz, swot history,
if it’d save me yet another playtime kickabout.

‘cause when you’re ten years old and no good at footie,
well, there’s nothing worse, I’m sure you’ll agree.
When you’re awkward and clumsy and picked last to play
You’ll find there’s anywhere else you’d rather be.

But just this last summer when I went away,
on a tour of the fear east on holiday -
in Myanmar, I discovered a small market stall,
that offered the cure to my strife and dismay.

It was yellowish-brown, curled into a ball,
"It’s a pangolin,” said the vendor, “from southern Nepal.
If you’re looking for good luck; after strength; wanting gall -
why it’s just what you need, to finally show them all!”

“Just grind up the scales (they’re made our keratin)
and mix it with oil for a most potent medicine.”
Well I ain’t doing that! I said, all agasp
I only wish to score goals and to get all my headers in!”

“Well it’ll do that too,” the vendor did laugh,
"Just tap when you’re ready (all tips go to staff).”
So I smuggled him home, my new pangolin mate,
bought on a whim for two pounds and a half.

The rest of the summer, we practiced ‘til late,
zig-zagging, sprinting around the estate.
We trained every day, no effort was spared
’til we could bend it like Bellingham, nutmeg Southgate.

‘Til the first day of year six, the school bell declared
the commencing of playtime, but I wasn’t scared
And though I was picked last, I’m happy to say
This year - oh this year - I came prepared.

I unzipped my backpack, said “lads, can we play
with this brand new football I bought yesterday?”

But as I stared into my backpack
I saw staring back
my pangolin pal, curled tight at the back.

And I knew in that moment - this ain’t what he wanted,
being booted about just so I wouldn’t be taunted.
’Oh pant’s I forgot it!’ I declared, with a shrug and a grin,
and trotted to the pitch and just tried to fit in.

And yes I was rubbish - I slipped on the grass,
missed every goal, fluffed every pass -
and yes the class jeered in their usual way,
but this time it just couldn’t ruin my day.

‘Cause walking back home, my pangolin mate
scurried beside me through our garden gate
and that afternoon, with a juice and some crisps,
we play FIFA ‘til bedtime -
and my skills were great.