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bonita (in progress)

I started this poem about the sport I've played and loved and hated my entire life. This is the third version, and I love and hate it. But I think it has shown me what this poem is supposed to be, which is... nothing like this. I'll keep working on it.

Poem in progress (ugh)

It started with a dog toy and an empty hamper

And post-golazo diaper changes


It started in truth in rayon orange

And itchy socks and a bunch of boys


It started to grow, with girls this time

And a leg that was stronger than the others


It started to matter who I was on the church field

And the worldies I hit from the center circle


It started to scare me, the ball at my feet

And coming in last place in the park fitness test


It started to suck that I was playing down a league

And on the other hand, I was having fun, again


It started to hurt when I played at school

And the coach made me the butt of jokes


It started to change when he went away

And the award on particle board proves it


It started by necessity to make friends in my dorm

And a group that was kind but never that good


It started to not matter that I was twenty-years-old

And half the age of the women who went drinking after


It started anew, coaching in the hot, hot summers

And that one day our inflatable blew into traffic


It started all over again in California

And the best players I’d ever shared a pitch with


It started and started and started and started

And started again, five times a Sunday, at least—


Until it stopped, until all of it stopped

And I can’t wait until it starts, again


Oh, how I can’t wait

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