End Run Poem by Joe Bisicchia
End Run
They cut the fog like ghosts
amidst ghosts.
Their lives are lived too fast
to accurately photograph.
The list of"also ran" grows.
And soon almost new,
the almost men,
barely teens,
are men in the least,
men soon at the most
like ghosts.
This, the earthly mist knows,
and even the end zone
can never hold them
forever close.
Published in Philadelphia Stories, Fall/2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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9/24/2024 9:53:22 AM # 1.0.0.1119
