Pushing, shoving, touchdown. Knocking people on the ground. Something, somthing, something something, shaking, aching, black and blue. Broken arms and broken legs, smashed up noses just like eggs. It may not be as bad as it may seem, as long as you don't mind a smashed up team.
This was a poem I turned in for a first grade poetry contest. I won the contest with such a beautiful demonstration on literacy for a first grader. All my teachers were so proud, they hung the poem up for all to see in the hallway. My mother was so proud.
But if only they had all read one of the books in their own library, particularly one of the children's poetry books, they would have found to their surprise the same exact poem published by another child a bit older than I. To this day, I have told no one that my proud moment was a lie. Until now. Sorry mom, sorry Mrs. Hamel, sorry kid I stole the poem from, sorry world.
PS. I don't regret it.