Title: Lament of a football widow

Surrounded by chatter of sports.
Who will be picked? How will they do?
Brackets and fantasy speak.

I try so hard to care,
To focus on words eagerly shared with bright eyes and sparks of excitement.
Surely such joy should infect.
A ballpox party.

But as a child dozes with futile frustration over texts dyslexia-twisted,
My face-blind eyes glaze against my will.
Names and names and names,
This one fast. That one strong.
Last year. Next year. Now.
A centuries-long blur of jostling uniforms.

There will be a test on Monday,
And I will fail once again.