It's behind, the player dives,
hurtling toward lime, dust,
bones, crawling in line,
linked by never-ending sinews.
But they end at rest, the play
dead, driven to rest by time
and defensive posture, standing
opposed to life, health.
And then it does end, and passes
quickly, time that stops only
briefly for players to done apologies -
to health and breath - though
magnificent athletes, vulnerable
to drive, to hurry exits, plays
reminding one of near death -
at least for careers bounding
It's another play, another time
out for motors arriving, sorry
to provide perfect traffic in and
out, with directors waiting, slowly
death crawls outside boundaries -
yards, goals, to breath again for
another, for more muscle, ligaments -
we'll need plenty of those -
healthy need only apply.
Behind, yet blind to danger, were
it to be faced, to be deflected,
aware of the tremor, the arched
earth, the goal posts - the defense -
careless with connecting tissue -
but brief and thin lines drawn
across arcing fields, easy to run
the sidelines, the escape - so hard,
so crucial that time.
© 2013 Larry Ingram
Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.