Soloist

Watching them play again
The beautiful game

There is something about watching a team train together
The discipline
Commitment
Unity
Watching lean-spindly-stout legs moving in formation, as to some unspoken agreement

And who is that soloist there
In the middle of the field
Following his own regime
Warmups, excuse me little birdie, you chirp so loud,
Squats, two laps, pumping
Now lying back flat on the green
For situps

While I rest here
Under this tree
Of no particular significance
But to ourselves.