Many don’t know about the hidden gem

Behind the looming High school

Just around the corner of the front of North

A set of bleachers sit on the grassy hill

This is the field

The field where hundreds of cleats and shoes

Will tirelessly perform warm ups and drills

And if you listen close

You’ll hear the satisfying sound

Of the bright orange ball 

Meeting the curved stick 

Sometimes you’ll hear the 

Tap tap tapping of plastic meeting wood 

And the crunch of cleats on turf

The bright warm sun beating down

Making sweat trickle down your face

The uneven pant of trying to catch your breath

To fill your lungs with air

The anticipation of the drill almost in

Competition with the racing heartbeat

The cherry red whistle screams its defiance

Catching your every mistake

Muttering and grumbling 

Take the stage 

When mistakes are made

No one wants to pay

The heavy price that they cost

Some may hate the exhaustion 

That often follows

And the other things that go hand in hand

Shin Guard and short tan lines

Turf sprinkled in my sweaty ponytail