At Last
The adrenaline unfolds into the last act of defiance
On a hollow wounded field, were venture capitalists applaud each hit.
Seeing only platonic tackles and the wondrous parabolas of the football.
On the losing side a single boy throws up his hands.
Seeking only the chest of his already jubilant opponent.
Choking back the spit rushing to his lips.
No matter how he laughs at his matted hair and bruises in the mirror,
He can only now execute the final play of his futile game.
Like going over the top at Marne, or the last dinner in a foreclosed house.
-Your Good Doctor
