S-21: Soccer Ball Poem by peauladd huy

Day in day out. Twice a day sometimes three:
after each drill-run, you come back beaten-
flat on your back and tossed in the holding compartment
with the others covered in human filth.

You’ve gone above and beyond what is objectively possible
for a small round thing. You’ve taken so many drop-
kicks, knee-jabs, and head-butts from all
players: captains,
warden, interrogators,
edgy guards, unsteady –
too young to nap standing up,
too restless for prison silence.

In the playing field, each contact
delivered upon your person intended
to bury one more for the home-field.
No restraint.
No fumbled thought.
Take-it-home:

all forces are sent in with every intent to lift you off.
You’re all net.

In the end, you’re supple,
a mush inside
this confinement of skin,
riddled by punctured marks, possibly leaking
and bleeding internally.