My jersey is worn
My pants are torn
My pads are busted
My joints are rusted
My shoes are old
My gloves were sold
My gear is out of date
My helmets not so great
I may not be the norm
But I still wear my uniform

radio playing, laughter transforms
into screams, metal crunching and
closing in, a flash of red hair,
or is it blood

the smell of dirt and smoke,
hands pull me from the wreckage,
covered in crimson water that
is not my own

            searching eyes and choked shrieks,
            where are they, where are-

face-down, still, twisted into
unnatural positions, unconscious,
the deafening screams are my
own, falling to my knees

helpless, seeing red but not in
anger, somewhere an ambulance
arrives, parents and bystanders
watch with unwavering fear

            they scream for their mother, and
            she is not breathing anymore-

uncontrollable shaking, a breath is
finally taken, but the battle is not won,
rushing, bright lights, tears and mud
staining my cheeks

she can only see shadows, his neck
is broken, another scream, a phone goes
off in the next room, a man in uniform
takes my hand and doesn't let go