Buried In My Bikes
Time is ticking down
I’ve got eighty yards to go
It’s the last game of the season
The fans are sitting down
Our mascot is a clown
And I don’t even know the reason
Coach signals in a play
I get flagged for delay
The defense has eaten my receivers
My wristband is befuddled
Bill collectors in the huddle
My sports agents, they are all deceivers
The center snaps the ball
The linemen take a fall
I am being rushed by the Hulk and the Thing
I am scrambling about
Trying to scream and shout
While the running back is counting up his bling
Before they kick my ass
I fire off a pass
And it is floating towards our end zone
Suddenly I am standing there
The ball coming in the air
And I’m talking to my mother on the phone
I want to be the hero
The scoreboard clock now shows zero
And the ball just continues above to float
The paperboy starts to shout it
“Everybody read all about it”
As the headlines say that I am the goat
The ball zooms over head
Coach Lombardi now is dead
The cheerleaders put their pom-poms away
I remain standing all alone
In the now empty end zone
Wishing I could run just one more play
My wife and kids have left me
I have grass stains on my knee
They now live with the winning quarterback
I fail in my audition
For the announcers position
And revive myself from a heart attack
My life is incomplete
As I hang up my cleats
My jersey number will not be retired
I try going home
To the place where I was cloned
And as the high school football coach to get hired
I drink myself to sleep
Praying my soul to keep
And wondering what happened to my life
The obit is really small
No accomplishments are recalled
I am buried still wearing my Bikes
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
