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Father
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Senior Year College I am fifteen years old, arms folded
My uniform, clean
Because I haven't played all game
From my spot on the sidelines, I peek
Over my shoulder and he's there,
Standing in the bleachers
Hands in pockets, smiling at me
We're losing by a lot
So I get to play
Most everyone went home
Only a few seconds left
I manage to barely trip the guy with the ball
But I guess it's a tackle
I stand up and look back
And he's clapping vigorously
Looking like he didn't mind waiting
One bit.
