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Another poem, would like input! (about Soccer, growing up, crushes)

Discussion in 'Chit Chat' started by HuskyPup, Jul 17, 2014.

  1. HuskyPup

    Regular Member

    Joined:
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    Location:
    An Igloo in Baltimore, Maryland
    Gender:
    Male
    Gender Pronoun:
    He
    Sexual Orientation:
    Gay
    Out Status:
    Out to everyone
    This is something I've been working on that's split into four parts, in a narrative style. It's based somewhat on my own past, though reimagined, as if I'd been good, or at least decent, at sports...instead, I was very clumsy. But I like to imagine what things might have been like; here's the first two parts, still in the revision phase:

    Alex.


    1. After Practice


    Lying face down in the grass
    looking up
    between the goal posts
    squinting into the sun lowering behind the tree-line
    through his brown bowl-cut
    grown out over his eyes,
    he feels his hands snug in their flexible gloves,
    the smell of most soil, cut grass,
    & pressed against the earth
    in his thin nylon shorts,
    a warmth spreads through him;
    his heart beats fast
    from the diving & panting & jumping to hug the ball close,
    that rough embrace.
    He tastes the sweat dripping from cheeks and forehead,
    mixed with his own saliva,
    watching the boys around him laughing and talking,
    their sweat mixed with the wild sent of sycamore after a rain
    & he looks down
    as an earthworm disappears into the mud,
    & relaxes,
    supported by his shin-guards,
    legs up behind him,
    resting on his elbows,
    starting to grow hard:
    a root
    struck down into the earth.


    ~

    Slipping out of his nylon shorts
    wresting his arms free of the grass-stained yellow jersey,
    he steps beneath the steaming water
    watching cakes of mud
    dissolve and swirl down the drain
    glancing cautiously from side to side
    amidst the occasional giggling & comparisons
    he looks down
    at his own thin-thicket of hairs sprouting
    & as the hot water begins to run cold,
    like rain
    he feels a sudden pulsing
    a new part of himself come alive
    and thinks of the varied colored bands of earthworms,
    their elastic texture
    as his own small cock
    curls forth with a certain defiance,
    he blushes,
    looking at the boy beside him,
    both of them stretching outward,
    as if from the soil
    in which they were born.


    2. Volvo Wagon

    In the backseat
    legs sticky on the leather seats
    in that protective shell of glass and steel
    his mother winds tight curves
    around lakes
    into the country
    as the three boys in the back-seat slide against each other
    one way,
    then the other,
    laughing at a song on the radio,
    the border-collie panting behind them.
    Alex holds the ball between his legs
    for camouflage
    blushing,
    looking out the window
    as theboy beside him,
    this blond kid
    who’s always talking,
    grabs the ball away
    &
    Alex might as well be naked now-
    the boy must know
    what he’s hiding
    but as the car drops him off and speeds away
    all he sees
    is the tall blond boy
    waving from the end of the drive
    leaving Alex to feel
    as always
    a spectator,
    someplace in the distance.


    H. Pup, 2014