The Official Site of Author Joseph Heywood-Non Fiction

[March 24, 2009]

Half a century,
Ere the elapsed lax-days
The hard-nosed redman’s game,
Severed heads for balls,
Games in place of war,
A futuristic value swap.

In our day, we
Played sperm-term
On rough-hewn fields
Unmanicured,
Unpampered grass
Like the players on it.

Adrenal times then,
Gritted teeth, hard muscles,
Wood sticks on bare bone,
Bodies colliding like
Neutrinos in a hollow tube,
Creating stars in heads.

No dreams of going pro,
No dreams of fame,
Only this day, this game,
This now,
Continuous gestalt.

Fast-flash forward
To neighborhood kids
Just this afternoon,
Lugging gaudy plastic stix
MP3’s in ear canals,
Endlessly tugging at sagged trou.

Arse-backward hats,
Whinging about practice,
Their passion for the game
Faint, and so much still to be done,
Alone, beyond mommycopters.
Sometimes the old ways are best.

[Truth be Told: I’d take one of those new sticks
With no complaint]