Above me, green pom-poms rustle in the trees like the ones my sister held above the artificial turf at our high school games. Legs pale blades on a windmill kicking high with shiny soles on the ends. I was the ogre under the bleachers back then, hell, maybe I still am. The sky beyond the stadium lights, one big black eye boxed between metal seats. This was back when the stench of a stranger’ sweaty leg was all part of the game.
“Sure, I’ll take another drag,” I responded to someone I can’t remember, pinched and inhale as deeply as I could that little bit of pollution, held it until the runner on the field was tackled to the pelting applause overhead like the cracking of helmets. Maybe there was brightness up there at one point, but I couldn’t see it through the cracks. I was never that good at the game.
After each big hit
Treetops cheer for the home team
Search for rising stars
© 2022 | K.Hartless