Game Prayer

Maybe it’s the way boys

look at each other before the last game,

their eyes wet and glimmering with rain.

Maybe it’s that I catch them

in these shy moments of waiting,

turning the world like a pigskin,

flipping it nonchalantly, low spiral

drilling the air. Maybe it’s this

moment before the splash of lights

before the game prayer

before you run from the door.

If so, forgive me

for seeing you so vulnerable,

in that quiet moment

before the helmets.