Eyes eventually adjust to the field
flood-lit with words that darkened
at first seeing the hard fist of white
clouding the scan. This scrum's got
its own referee, gains ground
with unstoppable plays. Blinking
doesn't open the game to more
than the calculation of odds broken
out into pre-set stages, each shifting
as an assault of new toxins is tested.
Time out's a luxury, sleep indifferent
to the team still rooting for remission.
Every good coach watches the clock,
knows when to make substitutions,
lets mercy rule, even as the opposition
prepares to call the foul, put down the flag,
sets up the all stars to telegraph one
last pass before the Cinderellas volley.
© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas