Good Sons

-

By Francis Marion – First Published January 22nd, 2017

His suit soaks

in the sink,

its surface

red

with the blood

that flows

from kevlar,

lycra,

and leather.

In the corner,

a scrum

at high speed,

two by two

they pivot

until a boot

catches

the surface.

Down!

He goes,

out of

control,

into a matt

and the board,

an explosion

in the corner

of the

arena.

The crowd

Gasps!

and he’s

still,

a second

a minute

maybe more

everything

moves in slow

motion

forever.

Then he rolls

slowly,

over

to his belly

then up,

the ice turns

a dark crimson

where

he

kneels.

As he shakes

his head clear,

He gets

to his feet

and skates

through the

crowd

to the

exit.

Wounded

but living,

Are you ok?

and the medics

place him

atop of

their

gurney.

His suit

red with

the colors

of his team

and his clan

they wipe

his face

clean

with a

towel.

They poke,

and they prod

Mother watches

in the crowd

her hands

covering

her face

while

she waits.

He who gets A’s

dreams of

music,

and

far aways

never fails

then falls

and

gets up.

Neither fearless

nor afraid

he knows now

no gain

without effort,

no progress

without

risk.

All in all

a good day

He says he’ll

still play.

Good sons

are God’s gift

to proud

parents.

One thought on “Good Sons

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s