Six foot tall the young man stood, And was built like a wall of stone, And when he stood between the posts Compared he could be to none.
His shout was loud, his throws were long, His grip was firm and his kicks were strong. To any length on height he’d leap In a bid for his clean sheet to keep.
But times would come when he’d screw up, Like missing the ball or letting it drop. And his team would look at him with disdain, Adding inner hurt to his physical pain.
So he would turn, pick the ball from the net, And try to learn from mistakes that he’d never forget. This process of learning was a constant thing, Adding more hope to his ‘ridiculous’ dream.
Harder he’d try, week after week, To ignore all the put-downs and instead try to think; “What can I learn from this? What’s going wrong?” His burning ambition was still there, still strong. The put-downs persisted but had less effect, And gradually the team showed their boy some respect. Despite disappointment and losing, his head remained lifted, A…
The older cat leaps onto the soft leather
armrest of the two-seater couch, crouches
and sits and waits, surprisingly patient.
There was a time when he would cry any
occasion when he felt we'd kept him
waiting too long for his afternoon meal.
These days he's turned the tables on us,
conditioned us to respond, like the dogs
making Pavlov scribble in that Stivers comic.
We even open windows to let him in
when he climbs onto the house to hunt for birds,
arthritic limp ignored for rooftop thrills,
green flashes of emerald eyes gazing
up with echoes of something ancient, primal.