poem of the day 11.04.10

old jock

drinking wine
watching the old jock
on the football field
trying to scramble away
with his bad knees and broken toes
from all of these heavy kids
watching the old jock take a hit
falling on the field, clutching his jaw
everyone in the stadium is quiet
the announcers on television
talk about what a warrior he is
people root for the old jock
because he’s hung in there so long
because he’s won the big game
and has met the president
they wear jerseys
with the old jock’s name on them
and talk about his best moments
while i sit here drinking cold wine
in the dark living room
on another hopeless sunday
hoping that the old jock
doesn’t get up so quickly this time
i hope he lays on the field
and thinks about his pain for a moment
about how rich and young he still is
how he doesn’t need to keep
taking a beating for the hungry masses
how he can get up and call it quits
retire for real this time
buy his wife trips to europe
while he announces football games
and fucks around behind her back
drinking wine
i hope the old jock
recognizes his pain this time
and says enough is enough
but you and i know that won’t happen
there’s beer and apparel to sell
there’s the chance for one last, great throw
for one last big game
for another trip to disney world
and when they
pick the old jock up off the ground
the crowd roars and the announcers
talk about true grit
as the old jock hobbles off the field
his helmet off
his gray hair under the hot lights
as the sports writer’s sit in press boxes
imagining their immortal articles
about how the old jock will
be questionable for next week’s game
but they know what we know
the old jock will keep it interesting all week
he’ll keep us guessing until the last minute
then next sunday he’ll limp onto the field
rising like a christ figure
that old jock
that old warrior
to proud and dumb
to know when to call it quits.