Transformation: Footballer

(soccer, that is)

When I become a footballer, I run across
grass wildly but stumble into
thick mud as it were: halted.  I become

two years old again and stab at and stomp
and kick things with my legs. Adrenalin-
incited, I then oscillate between manic

ambition and dispirited lethargy. Every
so often, ambition gets what it wanted
from a ball and some netting.

Sweat-ecstasy. For a moment I'm held
in the raucous hive-mind of the Folk.
Even as I begin to celebrate, I feel

the thrill begin to fade. I see the howling
crowd drunk in the rain, and I turn 51
and lie on a couch snoring while TV

broadcasts a soporific match.



hans ostrom 2017

The Soccer Goal

The soccer goal looks like a land net.
It is open to amphibious creatures
that may crawl, hop, or slither in.

This net won't keep its catch. It's
left that life behind, opposes
closure and captivity, embraces
emptiness. Heavy humans

routinely occupy this turf
to dramatize futility and make
a small ball mean too much.
They tire easily and depart.

Then comes the frog's time,
and moonlight, and dew.


hans ostrom 2013