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Football MAG
I found my poem
flying through the air
cutting through the air like a bullet.
The poem reaches my hand with a thump
the sound slithers in my ear
as it transfers its force to my arm
then into my torso giving me a jolt of energy.
I found my poem cheating on me
with another guy no less
my poem was rubbing onto him
all over his hands and chest.
My poem is always hanging with a group of people
sometimes my poem
is switched out by two different groups of people.
My poem gets very old,
very fast, It is always being used –
eventually this poem,
will end up being thrown away
because the fact is
it is old and worn out.
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