last soccer game of the season
It wasn’t how he had imagined it: warming the bench
those final minutes as the other players rushed the goalie.
His imagination had exploded through television replays,
the star forward spinning improbably into an upside-down
bicycle kick that landed the ball into the corner of the net.
This kind of greatness had been wheeling inside of him all season,
but here he was, instead, sidelined, watching in certain agony
and impotence. What I want to tell him is the only way
to get closer is to lean in, risk the failed attempt, the slip and pain
of public error, the small horror of the miss, the audacity to take the shot again.