Both written to fit the Nove Otto form highlighted by Poetic Bloomings http://poeticbloomings2.wordpress.com
I think he may be just too small,
too young. It can’t be fun at all
to tackle and get pushed. Too late,
he has been hurled across the line.
We should have waited until nine
years old to pad him up, not eight.
Oh, no! He’s much too young. I can’t
watch. I hold my breathe while he pants
for air. He smiles wide, “Football’s great!”
It became abundantly clear
after fierce fights fought that first year,
you and I were not meant to be.
We wanted to cling together.
Reprimanding like your mother,
I drove you away. The debris
of our love littered my heart.
Broken, we decided to part.
Our first great decision, indeed.