Routes
Routes
We boys ran routes.
Deep slants and skinny posts.
Buttonhooks and flags.
Flies and outs.
We sprinted so hard
At the backpedaling back
We imagined,
He stumbled, crumbled away.
The back of the end zone
Was a wall of lilacs,
The blossoms the wan
Faces of fans.
The ball we threw to
Ourselves spiraling down.
Would we catch it?
Of course we caught it.