Stadium lights hum
songs from far
away, like dancing after dinner,
falling forward, a black
eye, the ottoman.
I can
see Michael running
backwards. I can
feel his blood under my
fingernails. I can
wash it, but there is always
red.
I spin
or rather, everything else
spins. The stadium 400
yards away. The incessant
ticking of a wrist watch,
unattached sitting on
the bench next to the creek
bed.
Cheer’s led by
Go
pretty girls who
Fight
are the same age as I was
Win
the first time my brain betrayed me.
I wade into
the water. Whistles
echo off the field,
around the trees,
inside my ears.
My boots are filling.
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