The Blind Side

Seconds, only seconds,
when ten make a lifetime
A rush of defenders,
guys built like locomotives
dropping back and back,
to find a downfield reciever
A current of motion and color,
no time, no time, no time

Third down and twenty three,
absolute need to get the ball
not where he is, but will be
at a split moment crossing
A place in time and space
that doesn't exist, but will
A study in the futures market
of moving bodies

Drop back again, shrug him off,
step up or eat the ball
The time is now, make it happen
or crumple and walk away
That long slump shouldered walk
across the field to roars
that could be cheers, might be yet,
except for the blind side