Flip a coin “heads I win, tails you lose”

childhood sports were elation or blues.

Boys and girls together play as a team,

game time courage—a colorful dream.

Picked to play by “leader of the pack.”

Swing, baseball pitch—homerun whack.

Dribble down court—toss into the hoop,

cheering friends—whoop-whoop-whoop.

Then came the age when I got clues,

girls must not win—boys blew-a-fuse.

Time to step back—becoming demure,

team sport injuries—a rah-rah-rah cure.

Now I’m aging toward a new decade,

I should plan a turning eighty parade.

But I have pulled my left groin muscle,

watching TV sports—armchair hustle?

I thought groin injuries were in sports,

but now I’m limping and out of sorts.

I pulled the muscle changing clothes.

I moan ouch-ouch and oh-no-woes.

I’m at a point in time—dressing is the sport,

slowing—no game to play or time to cavort.

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April Ryan has written many poems and stories for Northwest Prime Time. Here is another one on a topic that most of us relate to … getting used to aging.