Don’t ask me how I am here
standing next to the pro quarterback
as he lofts one down the practice field.
There should be a vapor trail on that one
as it descends into the next county
with smart bomb accuracy
and almost makes you believe in sanctity,
or better yet, romance.
I’d forgotten how nothing else matters
in the moments after your first kiss.
I turn.
He’s over there looking at a clipboard.
Michael Philips
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/normally-i-hate-sports/
