Down.

That is the name of every score you make in football
and also the general direction in which my life moves.

My mood, how many hours of sleep I get, how much I resist the way I feel about you—
and I tend to move in spirals.

We are different, so different, and yet we move the same.
Your involvement in extracurriculars, your popularity, your sex life—
we are both descending.

But what I like about you is that as your football spirals down, down, down
and misses that final stretch that would have won you the game
(and yes, you’ll miss it—you’re you)

where I just give in
to my sinking,
silent
circles

you resist
that motion, you
get up, brush the dust off your shoulderpads
(they look like you’re stashing nuts in there,
but don’t get too excited,
it’s just the padding)

You are much more like a basketball
than a tree falling in an empty forest.
You will keep on bouncing off the walls
and I have faith that you will always
get the rebound.

I told you once, “you can win a battle
but lose a war.”
I know that you
will never feel daunted by the mountains
you will have to move your armies over
and yes, however much I tease you
I know that you will win enough battles
and let’s be honest, did you ever really think
I didn’t want to bear your standard?

Yes, we are going down, our radio was broken and no, we cannot send a signal up to Houston
but maybe this time gravity
will take pity on us
maybe we will be the Nile
running north against all odds
maybe, just for a little while, we
will fall

up.