The whistle blows
and the men
in the field next door
over the wall
start to play ball:
rugby and blows.

I suppose I am happy.
I must be for I stay.
Nothing could drag me away
but the horror persists:
my fall, my waste,
my waywardness 

betrayed by lines beneath
my eyes yet my face
still glows.  I will be
fey and hopeful yet.
I will upset life
by running past these

and yelling at
my faults.
I will court unrest,
receive my unwise ways
with courtesy, jest with a

certain resignation.  Knowing 
how to play the game 
involves skill, endurance, 
fielding frustration - 
I sense this is
a half-time lifetime situation

and know the
second half
will be better, will be
well.  I will score.
When you lose all 
you are not afraid

of losing any more.  I will
stand my ground, I will 
tackle life, try and try,
convert every opportunity,
charge down the right road,
I will play the game well.
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