The broken bastard boy, stirred by sirens
Half awake all night but half asleep
For most of his life is
Sleeping on a concrete stagecoach
Counting the sound of the crowd
As they make their way
To the show.
They huddled around her like a football team
Waiting to hear her call the play
And tell the team
Or at least tell me.
No one knew he could run so fast
Or even thought he could last
As long as he did.
No comments:
Post a Comment