My brother watches football games, records
the bouts he has to miss, and basketball
has fast become a fave. He angles towards
his giant screen and soon I hear him call
how we are winning, what we need to try.
I marvel at his attitude, his shelf
of sports insigniae, and wonder why
he watches who might play a game himself.

And then I hear my thoughts rebel and aim
their scope at me. I write. I like to call
myself a peeping poet – that’s a name
for one who’d be a fly upon the wall.
Spectators witness moments – life or game
or cinema – the action is the same.