on and on
when the wind blew
and the sphere rolled,
my hands in pockets
with fingers burned,
blistering with a certain
evil, a funny story,
bulging with another day
watching for,
some waiting ears
and tearing eyes,
eager, shouting,
their shouting
and my pulsing,
through the sores
numbed, still
breathing
watching for,
they are here,
they are there,
then an orange vest
blows his whistle,
halting, freezing
their murmurs, soft,
across the field,
their feet spread,
their stance solid,
shifting, determined...
watching for,
when i stepped,
attention removed,
with a cold smile
splitting chapped lips,
victory.
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