文章基本信息

标题：Yesterday.
作者：Evans, David Allan
期刊名称：Aethlon: The Journal of Sport Literature
印刷版ISSN：1048-3756
出版年度：2011
期号：September
语种：English
出版社：Sports Literature Association

摘要：

 Yesterday     Seeing early on how thin I was,    and so in love with running,    my grandmother, who had a good eye    and a good heart, called me "snake-hips,"    which I always took as a compliment--    and made sure she could watch me    through her apartment window snake-hipping    at top speed down the cindered alley,    just running or, better yet, in a race.     Later, in my teens, gloriously tall in cleats,    I snake-hipped through the line past    the out-stretched arms of linebackers    and down the sidelines, past the heavy, hopeful,    plodding dads--including mine--    in street or work shoes, following    the 10-yard chain; and the sexy, bouncy    cheerleaders--my future bride among them.     Yesterday, about to turn the last corner    on our brisk morning walk, puffing a bit    from climbing two mild hills, I faked    a half-back's move toward a squat garbage can    near the curb, speeding up a little as if    about to snake-hip through a crack of daylight    off tackle and haul-ass down 37th Street.    "Tell me," I said (I'd asked her this before),    "who did you have your pretty eyes on--me    or the crowd--when I went snake-hipping    right by you on my way to the goal line    in the Homecoming game against Orange City?"    "Both," she said (same answer as before).    We laughed, a couple of driveways from home    and 53 years later, both of us in decent shape,    for our age.

Yesterday.

Evans, David Allan

Yesterday

   Seeing early on how thin I was,
   and so in love with running,
   my grandmother, who had a good eye
   and a good heart, called me "snake-hips,"
   which I always took as a compliment--
   and made sure she could watch me
   through her apartment window snake-hipping
   at top speed down the cindered alley,
   just running or, better yet, in a race.

   Later, in my teens, gloriously tall in cleats,
   I snake-hipped through the line past
   the out-stretched arms of linebackers
   and down the sidelines, past the heavy, hopeful,
   plodding dads--including mine--
   in street or work shoes, following
   the 10-yard chain; and the sexy, bouncy
   cheerleaders--my future bride among them.

   Yesterday, about to turn the last corner
   on our brisk morning walk, puffing a bit
   from climbing two mild hills, I faked
   a half-back's move toward a squat garbage can
   near the curb, speeding up a little as if
   about to snake-hip through a crack of daylight
   off tackle and haul-ass down 37th Street.
   "Tell me," I said (I'd asked her this before),
   "who did you have your pretty eyes on--me
   or the crowd--when I went snake-hipping
   right by you on my way to the goal line
   in the Homecoming game against Orange City?"
   "Both," she said (same answer as before).
   We laughed, a couple of driveways from home
   and 53 years later, both of us in decent shape,
   for our age.