What Would you Expect

Tired and hungry
My heart, my body is mumbling
Muttering incoherently
For her
For rest
My mind’s like a news ticker
Rarely slowing
But certainly
Repetitive
Everything cannot be relative
Because if that were the case what would death be?

Thrown passes, bruised bodies, screaming coaches, torn turf
blown through a draft of enthused roaches and shorn hurt