BY
OFF SIDE
CHERYL J. FISH
Prepared for rain, we arrive early wearing ponchos
Search for soccer field number two, Red Hook, Brooklyn
In striking distance of Ikea’s flagship
Stockholm-on-the-Gowanus
Blackened factories, ships’ containers
Trucks fire up tacos, serve plantains and guava drinks
Our team gets called off-side
Again and again, a whistle, a hand, nothing counts
A foot might wedge or pivot in air
And end up east or west, anywhere
They don’t stand a chance against the bulky Latino strikers
elbows gnash their bony-boy physiques
in fancy uniforms, shiny red-and-yellow cleats
Our coach’s panicky indignation fails to ignite passion
The ball arrives first
The others barrel it into our net when we miss
Their siblings mock-kick on the sidelines, a dog runs on the field.
Losing takes grace.
I head to the truck for a shake
Amid whistles, bewilderment
One boy boots a crushed Pepsi can
Into the blinding sun.
Gyroscope Review 16-4
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