August 2, 2014


Every year in August
I remember two-a-days,
the practice schedule
for football, marking
the end of summer,
the beginning 
of another season,
the first dangerous
thing we would do, 
along with driving girls 
to the beach
on Saturday night,
drinking beers,
going steady,
that little, pretend marriage, 
no less full of need 
than the real thing,
like practice, once feeling 
the first full contact,
we were ready to play,
all over again.