If me and Julio can ever find it
in the schoolyard,
we’re gonna beat the crap
out of it and be on the cover of Newsweek.
Then we’re going to make
a basketball out of it,
and let every good college and pro player
pound it on the floor for a whole month.
And then we’re gonna turn it
to a hard rubber disk,
and give every pro hockey player
a chance to whack it with a wooden stick.
Of course we’ll also shape it
into a soccer ball,
and make sure every futbol pro in the world
kicks it with all their might.
Eventually we’ll reduce it to a ball with strings
wrapped tightly in cowhide,
and give every major league baseball player
a bat to hit it hard hundreds of feet.
And then we’ll chisel it down even further
to a little ball with dimples,
and ask every golf tournament pro
to tee off on it with an iron club.
For good measure we’ll ask thoroughbred horse jockeys
and mighty race car engine drivers,
to run over it again and again and just leave it behind
in a trail of muddy dirt and dust.
But we can’t.
We can only avoid it like a plague
until it begins to whither and die.
And then me and Julio will find it
and kill it off once and for all.
Copyright Charles A. Bruns, 2020
