I was looking at some poems I’d written a while ago–before I was ever a football fan or even watched it on TV–and I came across this piece (it’s signed “cc,” the initials of my English name):
Tabitha’s feet
I could see thru
your defensive line
barely in tune
carelessly reeling
I could feel her palm
up-faced
clamped to your abrasive smile
I could predict
count on your expensive attire
depressed by the blues
fearlessly indebted to you
starving grace
fumbling towards your wiles
go on giving
I could reminisce
the way you smelled
disposal fell to me
armed with but a spade
dragging after you
I could see thru
your defensive lines
rock star worthy performance
shatters the silence
to my hand-dealt misery.
–cc 31 jan 06 12:44 AM
