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Football Stains
I see your dark green jacket resting on the chair.
The sleeves not fitting the length of your long arms.
Dirt marks as big as pennies stain the back
From playing football against the lower grades at your elementary school
You beat them twice so far even though your team is lacking in players
You love to play still
Though your mother doesn’t like when you come home
With grass burns below your shorts
She wishes you were more careful
But you run faster next time you play,
As if you were chasing a squirrel
You come home after school
And your mother manages to mask the scratches on your legs with bandaids and ointment
Through her reminding you to be careful
You plan how you’ll play tomorrow, the last day of good weather,
I’ll be safe, you say
While the putrid nail-polish-like smell
From the black new-skin bottle fills your nostrils
You nervously await the burning sensation
It hits you fast as if you got the same cut again
And it hurts so bad
But you’ll feel it again tomorrow
I referenced this poem from my brother. He loves to play football with his class at school, but it always ends up ruining his clothes.