102

They pull at him, both,
And he dances away and
Spins heavily before they
Pile in and weigh on
Him again, and they seem
To dance together, three,
On their toes, gripped
In their all arms, the
Ball in his fat hand,
Tottering and rotating
And forging on as the
Sod flies up behind them.
Then they fall, and the
Fall is as limbed and as
Massive as that of a show
Horse failing at a gate.
They are felled together,
And the earth flies up.
One's mouthguard ejects
And one's mouth is red
With a cord of saliva
And one is motionless.