It was all for glory--
chasing down the ball-carrier
slamming my helmeted-head into
a gut, running over the
catcher because Coach told me to:
I never knew
then
the glory was his, not mine, though
won with my blood,
my guts, and
all for nothing but
to make him look good, and
for some shits' profits,
and for the prestige of the
school, that
spit some of us out each year
into the factories and
fields, where our fathers ,uncles, and
brothers--who had also worn the
red & white uniform, labored
for what they too
never knew.
chasing down the ball-carrier
slamming my helmeted-head into
a gut, running over the
catcher because Coach told me to:
I never knew
then
the glory was his, not mine, though
won with my blood,
my guts, and
all for nothing but
to make him look good, and
for some shits' profits,
and for the prestige of the
school, that
spit some of us out each year
into the factories and
fields, where our fathers ,uncles, and
brothers--who had also worn the
red & white uniform, labored
for what they too
never knew.
Wayne F. Burke's poetry has been widely published online and in print. He has published six full-length poetry collections, most recently DIFLUCAN (BareBack Press, 2019). He lives in the Pine Tree State.
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