A Point of Ultimate Frisbee
A saucer hovers over the field.
A cry: “Uuuuup”, lingers in the air
like the smell of a recent rain.
Two men, their desire unconcealed,
streak down-field, celestial comets paired,
striving to make the appointed hour.
So strong are the legs of these men,
these two champions come to test their valor,
that they reach the appointed place
long before the disc. In tandem
they wait decades, eons, until
the disc floats right over their faces.
The saucer lazily descends.
The defender jumps too early
he cannot make the catch, but skims
the disc with the tip of his finger.
The skittish object flits away.
The offender, off-balance, cries out.
Laying out, he reaches for the saucer's lip,
comes up with it hanging from his fingertip.
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