They kick me, they love me, they pay me their undivided attention. High in the air. They defend me from capture, I bounce off their heads and feet and legs.  

They swivel and jerk, but not dribble. Run and jump, twist on my behalf as they measure their virility and ability. They prefer me over other past times.  

They protect and defend me. They fight over me. They struggle over who will control me next.  Like jealous lovers they swing, knock each other down. I fly high to escape.  They fall, arms swing, and I bounce off their arms, arms not allowed to hug me. Hands pick me up, throw me. They crash into one another and I roll across to the next kiss of foot.  

They focus on where I am their center and their sole sight-line, watching my every move.
They are noisy, shout, scold, admonish.
They cheer and stare, direct and yell from sidelines.

They are fast, trip. Quick, turn, kick, spike, feet trip, shins trap shins as out of bounds I stroll. The nets are patrolled by the enemy, mesh fencing catches me but I fall into the street where they gathered this day in cars and parked.

I am quiet. I don’t know what they say. I am neutral like that one who blows a piercing shrill on misbehavior.

Don’t fence me in!  A final shriek blows my relief, their greed, their grief and they yell their relief and clap slap happy, reach pump arms.  Skip to my Lou.  Hosta la vista, Hombre. 

They show their colors in outer- wear allegiance to borders, but I am national and international. They play* me. I am an inanimate projectile object getting all that attention for two 45 minute sessions in a love affair with the humans starting at about age four to forty brittle bones break.

Uh, oh, I was mistaken, mislead by the attention. It’s not about me it’s about them proving their prowess. It wasn’t about me, I was just a plaything. 

                                                *&*&*&

*Play: slang for manipulating another’s naiveté for another’s own end.

Elizabeth believes a home for her work is out there.