Flag Mango Horse
By Phyllis Patterson/AKA PM Smith
I bite into the juicy over-ripe mango as I gaze out my window. A half-dozen teenage boys are oblivious to the fact that they are being watched.
The young men are sweating profusely as they bound around under a basketball hoop in what I would guess is a game of horse. Although, I really don’t know what a game of horse looks like.
Every so often one of these youngsters gets knocked on his ass and I wonder at how they can take such punishment without real injury.
Oh, but to be indestructible again. At their age I believed I could do anything and feared nothing.
Now, I tread carefully so as not to invite a broken hip.
The game has been in progress for an hour or more and does not show signs of ending soon. The sheer joy they exhibit makes me smile. How wonderful to be so without responsibilities that chasing a round leather sphere is allowed so much of their day.
I glance at the clock and frown. I have just enough time to shower and get ready for work. I glance wistfully at the basketball court and one of the players has thrown a flag on the play. I have no idea what caused the call because I don’t understand any of it. It just looks like wild chaos with tall young men racing about with abandon. But I certainly applaud their enthusiasm.