Football Season

Forward motion is caught by the ref,
obviously not following the maestro.
On the line of scrimmage ready to go,
too quick with that jump from their spot.
Barrels of ambition elbows will rub,
a return for a touchdown fill my quota! 
Lighting up a Jumbotron with control,
like a boss threw a perfect spiral ball. 

Sitting on my hands in the nosebleeds
entranced by every move they make.
All I want is a touchdown extravaganza,
so don’t get sloppy. No interceptions.
On the road or with an at home scenario?
Never doubt the power of the 12th man.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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