My goal in life is to retire

because the work I do no longer needs doing.

To become obsolete.

Walking the fields, strolling the sidelines,

and as far as I can see

children are playing:

determined and skillful, sweating and graceful,

completely exhausted, and deliriously happy.

No yelling. No carding. No injuries.

No knee braces. No ankle wraps.

No ice. No crutches. No splints. No ambulances.

No tears.

No stoppage time.

Every game starting and stopping at the whistle,

according to the running clock.

Oh, there would be running.

And jumping and kicking and passing and shooting

And tackling and intercepting and tipping over the bar.

The game would go until the final whistle.

A winner named. A loser declared.

Players, both elated and defeated, celebrating

because they get to play again.

How I long to stand by and watch,

silent, smiling and unnecessary;

to hang up my cleats, stack my cones, closet my ladder and rings.

To take a seat and watch the children play,

as I was meant to do.

If I had my way,

I’d be out of a job.