6 Minute Football

The night was a bucket of blackness splashed on a canvas of stars,
homebound in my green Chevy pickup on a backroad emptied of cars.
I could see my houselight in the distance like a flashing, flickering, flame.
I gunned the engine, raced up the road for tonight's great Football game.

Upon stopping, I looked in my mirror and saw some reflections of light.
Coming up the road, it was only my buddies with pretzels and chips for the night.
We watched the game, talked and ate, laughing in our work-day duds.
With the keg on the table and the chips in the dip, we sucked down masses of suds.

The game was intense and rugged on a field of green, you see.
I wished and wanted to play there when something tugged me three.
Bill's eyes went wild! Frank threw up chips! Sam spewed beer suds on me!
I began dissolving, melting, merging into the game's TV.

Before I knew it, with ball in hand, I was running for the touchdown goal.
Monstrous brutes, frothing at the mouth, ran behind to stop me cold.
They were gaining, almost upon me. That's when my Fear kicked in.
I could hear my best buddies yelling and shouting for me to win.

I was lifted in the air and slammed to the ground
with a crunch and a crash not kind,
with my wind knocked out and waves of hurt
from the weight of the brutes on my spine.
But the cheers went out with a Victory roar
and I opened my eyes to find
6 minutes of Pro Football, I'll cherish,
'cause the ball was over the line.

Namyh