he shoots and he scores

girls in pencil skirts

walk down the sphere

of grass with bent backs

the guys in blue jeans

bleached smiles and skinny

arms strong enough

to hit or swing

they all sit in a circle

brightly painted cheeks

hollering at 8 p.m. like a catcall

yellow more

demon than sunlight

in a soccer-match of dignity

he shoots and

he scores

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