(With apologies to Philip Larkin)
This was Mrs Midfield's place, they stayed
The whole time he remained at City, till
They sold him. If, from time to time, he played
Away, she'd know to take a slimming pill
And book into the Priory for a week.
We know her habits, detailed in The Sun:
Her taste for coke, the villa in Mustique,
And all the deviant ways they took their fun.
But if she stays in bed for weeks and cries
As, day by day, her trade-in value shrinks
And surgery's made it hard to close her eyes,
Or if she starts to doubt her friends or thinks
That all those column inches and who reads
Her Twitter feed and how her followers grow
And being slim enough to meet his needs
Add up to a happy marriage, I don't know.