Diving Off Teddy Whitten's Shoulders
‘Mr Football’
takes a breath
squats under
the sea
takes both my hands
as I crouch steady
on his shoulder blades
the whites
of Ted’s blue eyes
are salt-reddened
then he lunges above
the surface
a human platform,
now it is time
for me
to let go EJ’s hands
stand in one motion and
dive, dive, dive
a holy-roll
off Ted’s shoulders
a born-again
full immersion baptism to
that old-time, winter religion
football.
poem by Pete Dowe
Added by Poetry Lover
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