The Game
My heart is beating very fast.
Will I be she who's chosen last?
I hear my name and join the three
Who have been favored over me.
I watch those standing yet in line,
And see their fear as strong as mine.
Their fate unknown, they mutely stand
And pray to join our little band.
At last one girl stands there alone.
Her face is flushed, her chances blown.
As telling tears she strives to hide
I know full well she would have died
Rather than to be abandoned there
To bear the scorn and pitying stare.
I know the shame, I've filled her shoes,
The girl that neither side would choose.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2009
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