Grainy leather
Alien in my palms
The lucky birds
Get a front row seat
To the pig-skinned, farce
game of the year
Bursting with attempted catches
Bloody lips,
And implausible tackling
My squeals of contentment
Reverberating throughout
The neighborhood
Fatigued,
We retreat to the
Sofa for a night of
Popcorn and Wii
The luminosity of day
Altering into
shadows of dusk
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem