Annelise Driscoll


I stepped onto the field, left, right, left, right.
Making a vivid image in my head of a rowdy crowd cheering me on.
I stood there exhilarated, my heart pulsing, tingles up and down my body.
That morning was my time to shine.
It was my time to be the shooting star,
among all the little twinkling ones.
I hear the swoosh of the net as the rocketed ball zooms in.
I hear the crisp sound of my foot hitting the ball, a whacking sound like no other.
I hear the whistle blow like a bird tweeting from the nest,
“Good luck!”

I see the rainy days, sunny bright ones and super cold ones of practices ahead.
I can picture my spot on that team,
Only a tiny freshman, but massive qualities to bring.
It all seemed right.
As the last whistle blows, I stand there,
drenched in sweat, out of breath, bent over.
Soon to be number 8.


Copyright © 2002-2011 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2011 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.