Hakeem Rahim


Football Games Are Neat, - Poem by Hakeem Rahim

Giants run the field,
Crushing Earth beneath them,
Atlas would be proud.
Holding the hopes of city states
On their backs.
In a flurry of flags twirled over head
These warriors of the gridiron
Trounce each other,
Battling with helmets that
Knights would be proud of

Balls are kicked into play
Play clocks run,
Plays are run,
Running backs
Cup balls as though
Rolling dough for chocolate chip cookies,
That fans eat.
Each play is dissected by:
Head, offensive, defensive, coaches
Orders are called in from red phones
As if the president ordered a pizza from batman,
Plus wings.

Football games are neat,
As cardinals perch on spring tree branches
Waiting for a worm to surface, to eat.

Football games, like fantasy leagues,
Are the paradigmatic American experience.

The opening play is called after a gamble,
Teams flip and vie for position.
The time begins—it is neat—
Like on Christmas day, like a ribbon tied about
Our favorite childhood gift; a spectacle
To marvel at, once opened,
The toy only played with only once,
To be discarded, but it was nice.

Football games have: timeouts,
Red flags for challenges,
Yellow flags for do over,
Yet somehow, someone wins.
The score is tallied, and
We have a winner and of course a loser.
These games we play.

Of course there are second chances,
There are Cinderella teams;
They dance around defenses and steel wall offenses,
Fields of ballrooms,
Fantasies, where glass slippers are slipped gently
On feet to make dreams come true.
Underdogs that rise from the insurmountable.

America is full of fantasy.
Between the exuberance of victory
And destitution of defeat,
Somehow we find tomorrow,
Unscathed.
Things are wrapped up neatly.
On a field of dreams,
There is a winner and a loser,
Even in the agony of defeat,
There is yet another tomorrow,
Another season,
Another day where champions can prevail.
There are always second chances,
There is always the play clock to mark beginnings
And ends, and there is always someone to sound the trumpet
Beaconing us to try again.


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 9, 2008



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