It is eleven o'clock
And I sit in my room
In front of a computer
And wait for a video to load
It is eleven o'clock
And in the football field
Across from my room
(and five stories down)
Groups of people
Throw penalty flags
At no one at all
Three large groups of people
At eleven o'clock
Decided this evening
That they should go down
To the football field
Across from my room
Turn on the lights
And throw penalty flags
There are no footballs
There are no frisbees
No soccer
No lacrosse
No baseball bat swinging
Just three groups of people
At eleven o'clock
Throwing an oddly large number
Of penalty flags
Sometimes to each other
Sometimes in the air
Sometimes they even run as they throw them
But none of this changes
That all they are doing
Is throwing penalty flags
At eleven o'clock
Without any players
To make penalties
And I sit in my room
And look at the field
That is five stories down
And I laugh at them
While my video loads
And I call them weird.
I think maybe my priorities are out of order.
Written by David Briggs, 2012. Edited from an earlier draft published in The Catalyst Online Vol. 5 (The Catalyst Literary Magazine Vol. 35 Issue 1)
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