Players
Sweat, shout,
Push unwilling bodies in
Measured yards
On the football field
Groan, knowing
They are too old to cry for mama.
Light as lace
The chiming fence between
The kicker could leap over, easy.
But it holds both sides
Yards from the yardline
Not long from being hearsed away
The wrinkled hand pulls,
Is all that moves,
An inch is all effort
Shouts at rails
Cursing the cursed,
“ this is hell, hell, hell!”
Ambulances swap bodies
From the long hall
That winces
“ Mama, Help!”
And everyone knows
That this is hell.