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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required These are the best sports poems by Michael R. Burch, Part V Just Smile by Michael R. Burch We'd like to think some angel smiling down will watch him as his arm bleeds in the yard, ripped off by dogs, will guide his tipsy steps, his doddering progress through the scarlet house to tell his mommy 'boo-boo!' ... only two. We'd like to think his reconstructed face will be as good as new, will often smile, that baseball's just as fun with just one arm, that God is always Just, that girls will smile, not frown down at his thousand livid scars, that Life is always Just, that Love is Just. We do not want to hear that he will shave at six, to raze the leg hairs from his cheeks, that lips aren't easily fashioned, that his smile's lopsided, oafish, snaggle-toothed, that each new operation costs a billion tears, when tears are out of fashion. O, beseech some poet with more skill with words than tears to find some happy ending, to believe that God is Just, that Love is Just, that these are Parables we live, Life's Mysteries... Or look inside his courage, as he ties his shoelaces one-handed, as he throws no-hitters on the first-place team, and goes on dates, looks in the mirror undeceived and smiling says, 'It's me I see. Just me.' He smiles, if life is Just, or lacking cures. Your pity is the worst cut he endures. Y2k: The Score by Michael R. Burch You should have known when you were giving us wedgies, pulling down our pants in front of the cheerleaders, playing frisbee with our slide rules... that the years are exceedingly cruel. You should have seen, dashing across the gridiron (as the cheerleaders screamed in a panty-show of ecstasy) , playing the hero, the bull-necked jock... the hands on the face of the unimpressed clock. Though you were popular, the backseat Romeo, the star who drove the flashiest car, though you lived out our dream and took the prettiest girls to the dances, the prom... you never had a chance. Something was wrong. We missed the big dances and proms as we hissed and we schemed, as we wrote and re-wrote our revenge while you partied like Stonehenge. Now your business is in debt to the hilt. It's too late to cry: Foul! Unsportsmanlike! Tilt! One statement of ours and yours are all lost! Your receivables, aging and gathering dust, will yellow like urine one soon-coming day. While you were scoring, you missed this play— Jocks: Zero. Nerds: Y2k. Keywords/Tags: sport, sports, sports poems, athletes, athletics
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