I walk along the tarnished, play-worn field
On a hot, overcast day.
The smell of the chalk lines in the grass,
The goal post, which might be the same one that I
missed repeatedly,
The woods next to the field where I lost many a
ball—
Pushing my way through the bush I searched,
collecting broken twigs in my hair,
Scratching my arms and my legs.
The sound of boys playing basketball behind the
school.
All this draws me back to when I was a boy and
played soccer on a team.
For some reason, my teammates thought I was a
stain on the team’s siding.
They bullied me mercilessly.
The leader, a tall, strong blonde with cold,
ridiculing blue eyes,
Confronted me one day when the coach wasn’t
looking.
The rest of the boys surrounded me as he stood
inches from my face.
I made a feeble attempt at knocking the ball from
his hands,
And he pushed me.
I was knocked around like a pinball
Until I fell to the ground and wept.
When my mom got there and asked me why I was
crying,
I made up some lie and told her I couldn’t play
anymore.
Now, on the field, a couple is tossing a Frisbee
with their dog,
And three birds fly overhead toward the east on a
warm breeze.
It will be autumn soon, and soccer season will
begin.
Will some boy join a team and be bullied by his
peers the way I was?
Perhaps.
If so, it will be the beginning of a long process
for him
That never really ends.
Not even after twenty years and he finds himself back
on his old soccer field, remembering,
Sad, strangely confused, and somehow misbegotten
as a man.
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