Put it all in the air
and let it hang there,
our ball of broken dreams
and broken bones
Put it all in the air
and let it hang there,
our ball of broken dreams
and broken bones
How can all your life compress to a single moment
and all of it be air after all, you perfectly placed by your miss
to see every second of the consequence, your rival
(who you’d have dropped every other time
with ease) now galloping free, strutting in fact,
into the end zone with the prize –
all his life now made
in that one second
that was once
yours.
Of course we know which way we’re going
when we’re in the game, but step outside
to see the ball fly free from the scrum
to cross the invisible line, and hear
the eager calls and know no
answer from deep within to
pleading, pleading eyes
The Gronk has a punctured lung
maybe
the paper says
and you can still see the hit
the one-two
and still feel how
you were glad for it
after what he did to us
two years ago
catching that pass.
What Christ thinks of football I don’t want to know,
but I can see his eye
and hear his breath,
and I’d best be off
before I think some more.
They scored on their first possession:
left-right-left-right-winger-striker-bang!
And that librero they had:
Never was a girl so free.