Home > Poetry > Linebacker


You prattle on about the beauty of the game,

the symphony of Montana to Rice,

the jitterbug of Sanders,

the ballet of Swann.

But beauty is


A terror in black and gold with scraggly blond hair and missing teeth,

Vampire in cleats.

Snot bubbles, taped hands covered in mud and blood.

It’s in the names




Linebacker is primal force unleashed, number 56 in blue and white, launching into fragile 7 with his little-boy-looking one-bar face mask with all the energy of a typhoon, Rest in peace, Mr. Quarterback!

Sure, buddy, let your son play quarterback,

Mine will play Linebacker!

Categories: Poetry
  1. No comments yet.
  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: