Fantasy Football
I know I spend too
much time sitting here, but
on Saturdays in September I like
to imagine how it might feel to line up
on the outside edge of the line of scrimmage,
and in perfect time with the cadence, leap forward,
sprinting twenty yards, then cutting inside, just as the ball
arrives, and I pull it tight into the cradle of my arms, never breaking
stride, picking up a block, stutter-stepping right, turning on
a dime, until I find the sideline and a straight green
open path, so fast, everything else is my shadow
and bright blue sky and the mosaic of the
stands, and my body, a machine, all
efficiency and power, not even
out of breath, a joyous
explosion, a gift.
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