by Jeffrey Murrell


"You be the quarterback,"
I told her.
She had shining eyes
And a pretty face.
She was a real smart girl
Whom all us boys chased.

The others agreed without hesitation.
Good for her!
She was very important
For once in her life.
She was ready and able,
And so we recognized.

The team assembled
And waited for her.
Then up drove a truck,
Painted old, fading green,
Blaring loud music;
We couldn't hear a thing!

It was her granny
Looking for her,
Making sure she couldn't play.
A stumpy old broad--a real bitch,
Wearing round spectacles,
Rumored to be a witch!

She spoke broken English,
Nagging at her.
I cursed back in her native German!
Then something strange happened when I interfered;
Except for those glasses,
The old woman disappeared!

I found myself yelling back at them
To defend her,
Telling those glasses crawling like a crab
Around at my feet on the cool ground
To get in the truck,
Leave her alone and go back!

The glasses twitched around
And stared at her.
I should have stomped them to bits!
(The girl ran off--"Come back!" Granny said.)
But how to explain they were just glasses
If granny reappeared in them dead?

They fluttered back to the truck
And left her.
Then granny reappeared whole in the cab.
I knew she was pissed at me for getting into it,
So I dodged behind some car rails
To avoid getting hit!

The angry old woman peeled off.
I yelled to her
To come back to the field
So we could start our game.
But she remained sitting sadly in the road
Too depressed then to come back and play.