"High School Marvel"

Touch downs. Extra points and kick returns.
Spiked shoes that dig
in deep.
Four inch high, thick bladed grass, one hundred yards of pain
with every step.
Determined silver-back gorillas waiting on scrimmage line
snap the ball.
Six seconds seem like six years.
Twenty-two pairs of shoulder pads instantly collide-
Explosion!
Twist, pop, pop, grunt
Cheers echo from distant stands.
Short-skirted girls with glistening mops of red and white in hand.
Bellowing shouts muted by
The drowning sounds of the fans.

When Big T’s dad went away, he played like a lion-
resilient and sturdy; unstoppable with a cause-
A young cub with pigskin in clutch
dodging through a maze of nomadic barbarians.
Stiff arm, jukes, hurdles and spins
aerobatic feat morph unhuman.
Fourth down heroics make him legend.

Weekdays end under the illuminated battleground.
Scoreboards flash 21-20 and go dim.
Emotion pervaded herds pile outside of equipment filled rooms-
Pats on backs and high fives
turning boys into men.





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