The neigh of the horse chestnut tree. Crossed out.

Conkers the size of bowling balls encompassed in shells resembling green spiked sea mines hang from the snap ready branches of this rusting Goliath of a
horse chestnut tree
Grown men conker pick in full suits of armour
The fruits of the freak half bury themselves as they smack against the Earth
Marbles dropped in half set custard

Local male office workers congregate in car parks at lunch time
Post-it note romances cheer from the side of the circle
Their scaled up youth threaded onto bulky metal chains,
The shoelaces of the iron giant
They compete in the hammer throw minus the throw
Returning to work with blood in the creases of their fingers and bruises from the waist down
Purple as if dipped in an ink well

Conkers return skuffed from the tarmac of the carpark
Where the dark shine gives way to a brighter shade
Winners are stored in carrier bags beneath desks until tomorrow