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.
Routes
Routes
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.