Change Your Name by: Andres Zapata, Mixed Media, 2019
Mortification
The stench of exhaust,
the hardness of the seat,
the mud in my cleats.
With a slam the door shut,
trapping me in.
His disappointed tone,
the heat of his words,
barely restrained fury.
Red-tinged and small
the helmet gave no comfort,
even out on the field.
Shoulder pads tightening,
socks constricting,
heart in my stomach.
Passing lights in the window,
shining their pity
too far to help.
The assault continued,
“terrible plays,
shoulda caught that,
piece of shit.”
That’s all I was.
The helmet nodded,
pads shrugged,
cleats tapped in affirmation.
A failure.