Sports Poem by Kynthia Rosgeal

Light, diffuse, soft and warm
enters my barely open eyes
I smell grass and feel breeze
soft, gently blowing a hair loose

I do not wish to continue
waking up, this is so nice
in this gauzy, warm, sweet
dream, I am whomever I please

I am Catherine, well before the fall
of the house of Romanov
and I've no Rasputin to topple me
so I lay there, feeling the fist tingles of pain

My head begins to throb
I imagine the London Symphony
is inside, doing the 1812 Overture
And I am a kettle drum

I open my eyes, bright, harsh,
sunlight floods in I have been out,
cold, again.Not knowing if it was fight or collision,
this time, either way, again.

I prove I am no masculine failure
I am all boy, I fight, curse, play
sports. Hard, all out, and I score
Deep inside I despise me

I am what I detest, a jock
A poser, a lie in shorts and cleats
I look in the sun and see my escape
I hold my breath and the world swims

When I wake up this time
it is to a chemical smell, and I am inside of
it stinks of despair, dashed hopes and
broken dreams, like any stinking high school

I lay there, enjoying the noise, knowing it wont intrude
any further than that dark shadow that warns others
stay out. I can dream, now, dream of the day instead of
a masculine failure, I can be a feminine success.

I see her, when I grow up I wish I could be her
She looks like my mother, I miss her, but I love
Dad, he would never understand, but, knowing him
he would be disappointed, he wants me to earn a letter

Other than a scarlet Q, I mean. I wish I took Home Ec.