Wednesday, April 15, 2015

The Last Tantrum

I lost it on the field.
The little shit hit me
in the back, between numbers
and after the whistle.

I got up in tantrum
tears, snot and curse words,
voice cracking, feet stamping.
Teammates pulled me off field,

where I sat in wet grass,
glared till I was tired.
Then came wave after wave
hopeless embarrassment,

that unsightly naked
feeling. Shame like nausea.
The crowd: parents and worst—
friends and girls, all watching

with a cringe. I promised
to keep these things secret,
hidden from view. To take
refuge behind blank face. 

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