Jogging Around My Old High School Football Field at Night.
Jogging Around My Old High School Football Field at Night It's dark and quiet. My thighs jiggle another quarter mile, and every season my shoulders shrink inside the jerseys of that boy who played right guard with Mud-Dog Sweeney at center and Jarhead Jones at tackle. Stadium lights, ballooning knees, broken fingers. Concussion?-- No, he's fine. Coach Casey yelling, Suck it up! when we're down by two, but marching. My wife won't let our son play football. Brain injury, a fifteen-year-old? Are you crazy? I don't argue. Black track streams below the final rib-stitching sprint into the end zone with not enough breath to Yeah, a happy brute, stomping, sky-fisted, parents bouncing the stands. Fingers laced over my balding head, sweating home along Stadium Street's soft houses, screen-lit fans check Fantasy stats and scores, lineups and injuries. Who's back in, who's questionable, who's out?
Please Note: Illustration(s) are not available due to copyright restrictions.