she leaves the bathroom-
leaves our pre-game huddle-
and takes her position
on the field of life.
within minutes
i too am on the gridiron, pressing south,
straight-arming hoar-windowed cars
that lunge from driveways and side-streets.
i plunge through the line of scrimmage
triggered by the snap of a traffic light
and charge down field
zig-zagging through the faceless opponent.
breathless, i cross the goal line,
drop onto our bed,
delivering to her what i have carried intact
all the way from the bathroom.
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