The Fan by Ella Larson

We

watch him

jerk, juke and jostle the others

As he catches and clutches that brown,

pointy, spinning, cylinder, again

All I see is a purple blur zoom past

He leaves behind everyone – they are dust

I smell salty, sweat as he passes the bright, dirty, white

touchdown line

People burst out of their seats like popping popcorn

While he hugs and hurdles through his team

like a pack of yellow and purple zebras

I roar like a lion amongst the opposing crickets

Man I’m a

Thielen fan