There are a bunch of teenage girls
playing in the yard next door.
They’re tossing a football around —
full regulation size —
their fingers can’t get around half of it.
Their throws are desperate and pitiful and short.
I want to hug every single one of them.
I want to make them promise
they’ll never believe anyone
who tells them they can’t play with boys.
I want to tell them that when someone says
“You throw like a girl”
they should point out that they, in fact,
are girls.
And then I’ll teach them like my mom taught me —
fingers on laces —
snap the elbow —
perfect spiral down the field.
