Waiting on the sideline for the defense
To hold them, I stare into the floodlights
Overhead. The empty, night, September
Sky invites a wet and refreshing breeze
To the field. Whistle and turnover.
We, the offense, yell in celebration
As our teammates hustle off. It’s our turn
Now, but I can’t seem to find my helmet.
Has anybody seen my helmet? Please,
Somebody help me. I swear it was just—
Get to the huddle. Forget the helmet.
They’re up by one with two minutes to go.
Take the line of scrimmage and get down, set,
Ready—snap, shatter, gash, spew, twist, and rot.

***

Nik Korbich is a writer and part-time teacher.