Posted: February 21, 2014 by writingsprint in Poetry
Tags: , ,

Four serving three
The balls sails over.
I go! she shouts,
half in panic,
half self-assured softness.
She smiles. A hit of death is coming up.
A metallic thud and the ball floats up.
Six bodies run in concert.
Three attackers.
Two wings cover.
The setter.
The setter takes the ball
The world pauses again.
A rush as the ball comes
down and because the setters is there,
as if he had never reached to take a step at all.
The ball jumps off his fingers into the air.
Anticipated panic.
The other team runs up, preparing of archangel’s
might to come down. The cover men cover.
Except for the left outside hitter, whose world has
become a building, whipping tornado.
His arms whip down and spring him into the air. His left arm
points to the floating ball, coming down, as his right arm
whips back into firing position.


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