In middle school, we played a game.
Each spun a quarter on its edge and we watched them dance.
Spinning so fast that the looked like spheres, they whirled.
Sometimes it fell flat and anticipation was for naught.
Sometimes they nicked each other, sending one or both away woozy and unsteady.
Collisions are what we lived for.
When the pattern and path was so altered that one came crashing down.
The one left spinning was declared the victor.
I can’t tell if I’m still spinning or down for the count.
My heart and head are spun to opposite ends of the radius.
It was an intense collision that left me bruised.
But bruises heal, and truth be told, I’d do it again.