Coach Roswell tipped his hat
to the stars.
Soon they were inside his head.
Every day he grew more
unfamiliar with his skin.
The league said there were limits
to this team thing he envisioned.
But tryouts were open to everyone,
from slugs to superheroes.
They played a game without rules,
and he adored them for it.
Sometimes he felt all buttery inside,
even seasoned with ground pepper.
His playbook consisted of dreams.
And every night he split apart
so the dogs could lick his heart.