Wishes and Dreams

A cool and cloudy autumn day,

lined up with the team on the

40-yard line game of play,

watching football intently with

anticipation on TV.

The score—visiting team thirteen,

home team seven.

The center snaps the ball to the

quarterback who scrambles

out of the pocket to the left

and lets fly with a perfect

spiral, threading the needle of the

defense to reach the tight end

on the run in between.

On the 5-yard line, I make a

spectacular catch with hands

I imagine to be mine, with

driving legs envisioned as

mine, I lunge across the goal

line for a touchdown,

tying the game being

broadcast on live TV.

The fans are astonished at the

surety of hands, admire the

strength of legs which are in

reality not mine, but rather

those of another I am partici-

pating with vicariously on TV.

A cool and cloudy autumn day

as the stadium goes wild,

cheering in an uproarious frenzy

for the hometown team and me.

And I, knowing that never in

my wildest imaginings, not

even in my prime, was I ever

able to play the game like that.

But there are some days, an old

fart like me can only dream.

                   -30-

Chris Hanch 8-22-23