Saturday, September 6, 2008

The Irishman

It was a sickly crack
not hard
but solid
like a hard boiled egg
on the floor

sweat, heat, grass

to win
duck and push
body to body
strive, drive

the sound.
like a dropped egg

there will be blood
even before he knows it
then he knows it

and realization comes
with familiar vocality
of wounds of the past

blood spills down
flesh broken
game broken
but not before
the satisfaction of hard earned exhaustion

the irishman laughs, again.

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