Thunderous cheers emerge from the now standing bourgeois,
as they choose sides in this war
controlled by time and shrill whistles.

The skirmish begins with a foot assisted spiral
descending from the heavens
into arms of a waiting infantry man.

Sideline generals forward battle plans,
transmitting evasive maneuvers,
formulated to manipulate the designs of the defense.

Lines of bulking humanity
pitted against other weight laden lines,
trying to cement or obliterate the gamemasters zone of protection.

Body hardened foot soldiers forever pounding dents,
as fleet footed winged warriors trace the chalk mark boundries,
looking to grasp a bullet launched from a shotgun.

Bodies, confronting other bodies,
mashing, dashing, thrashing and grappling
for inches and yards.

Bodies all wishing to continue the war,
the following Sunday afternoon,
with merely a change of uniforms.