Sunday

Silence flying out with the breeze

Mud molding with the grass

Green

Movement thundering from one

Zone to another

Multi-ethnic soldiers,

Bathed with a splash of war paint

Which cover’s their clothing

Bulky at places, lanky in others

Hidden plastic protection underneath

Some parts left unprotected altogether,

Symbolized by the random scuffed knee,

White tape wrapped knuckle,

Scars from wars past

encrusted on the faces and eyes

of each combatant

Like the other parts of each warrior’s body

Each head is covered in a shell of hard plastic,

Clan symbols encrusted upon each side

Ear holes and facemasks,

A white breath escapes

Each side peering into the others soul

Attempting to impose their will

One trying to dominate the other

Waiting for the stripe shirt

To end with these

war of words, guarantees,

And pre-game manajeries,

Whistles give way

To bone crushing collisions

24 second offensive and defensive decisions

Helmut to helmet momentary fusion

While a legion of on-lookers

Hooting and hollering

Chanting from each successive octave

Rising to the highest crescendo

At every 7 point breakthrough

Or falling to a low murmur

At every 7 point setback

-Jason W. Olson, 2/8/98