Poetry and Poetics
There is something in the silence
between huddle and the line.
Somewhere between tickling sweat
trickling down the plinko-board hair
on our arms, the dog breath panting through
full-caged masks, the calls of eagles, audibles
of confusion, some place where within this war
there is a much needed turning point.
There is no cold, no numb, no pain, no guilt;
in the silence exists just grass, lines, us
and the enemy. The trick lies in not leaning
when pulling, to play it bluffed, and when
the cadence beats, the hike comes, the steamroll takes
hold, guard and tackle, foot-for-foot, toe-to-heel,
belly out the war cry of the single greatest
tool in ground-to-ground warfare.
© by Jason Huskey
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