His face is a
Fresh snow fall
Covered in frost
Bright white hair
Tossed by wind
My hearts feeling is lost
I shiver and shake
With the winds
Never ending blow
The jet black night
With no stars at all
The moon so low
The artificial beat
Of football lights
Ache my head
As he walks near
Sturdy frame
I know he is my med
Too cold for snow
But not for ice
And many fans
He sits by me
And I know
This game will open cans
The blue fingers
The pulse of hands
Clanky bleachers
He moves closer
And looks behind us
At a row of teachers
Touchdown scored
He clears his throat
And offers me his gloves.