My nose is bloody, my knuckles, too,
And my jersey's covered in mud.
I don't know who I thought I was kidding,
Trying to be some romantic stud.
Curse these stinking pads,
Get this helmet off my head.
My back feels like I'm eighty years old,
My feet feel made of lead.
She popped the ball out from my arms,
I never had a chance.
Sprawled on the ground I watched her run;
Chalk six up for Failed Romance.
I'm sick of playing this stupid game,
At least while she's still playing it.
This had to happen sooner or later,
There's no point in delaying it.
So substitute some other fool,
Go ahead, coach, call me in.
Maybe someday soon I'll hit the field,
But for now I'm getting benched again.
Aidan Clevinger
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/benchwarmer-getting-benched-again/
