Team ~

Team ~

(Dedicated to Donnie Pritt)

 

Lock arms with me,

And run, into the night.

If mile 101 has approached its timing-

Then just-

Teach me to place the mark,

And vaunt it . . .

 

When I am desolate, and standing in the midst-

Of a field that is lonely, dark and cold,

Tell me the correct date-

So that I can re-mark it on my calendar,

And get my bearings straight . . .

Because I want to be able to show at the correct-

Date,

And not get thrown off the big leagues.

 

If, when I finally show-

I walk around, when I am heading into the-

Circle of misshapen forms of men-

With their arms spread out, and feet pounding-

Into the dirt, like the hooved feet of heavy, testosterone-induced game bulls,

Then place your arms around my back-

And push me in,

Sending me flying into the fleet of-

Fight and fury-inclined,

Dispositions . . .

 

And if-

When all that is left after they,

Have finished with me,

But a mess of scattered rags-

And unidentified pieces of-

Rag-worn out fabric,

And I’m sitting in the center of it-

With a look upon my face seeming dazed and unfocused . . .

Walk back, at just the right moment,

As though you were a character piece in a novel-

And lower your arms down, and hurl me back . . .

Don’t be afraid that I will break-

For I swear I will just fall against you, laughing . . .

And then run back into the fray . . .

 

Just lock your arms with me and then push-

Yelling out,

 

‘Fight!

Team!

Fight!’