The Dome, 7:00 p.m.
Cleats grinding into mud
Ruining insects homes beneath
Only to cause no signs of relief
Footballs sour through the air
Interceptions here and there
Only to please the enemies goals
Never to satisfy my own soul
Or to give me any such relief
We remember our many days of practice
Only to find ourselves in madness
Frustration ruining my hopes for points
Quarterbacks arms fire away pig skin
Only to find its way to the enemies hands
Once more pleasing the enemies goals
Only to be forced to remember our successful days of practice
by Kyle Doran
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