Gym Class

The stench of sweat filtrated the air, the ivory ball strategically batted, bumped,struck,spiked,over a hole filled obstacle, arms lobster red, cheeks rosy with evidence of effort by me. Stature short, movements stunted by fear of failure, a missed ball, two, three, frustration, anger, team looks, voiced vexation of my poor skills. Irate, pulsing words tossed back and forth between expert, manly, athletic, charming, good looking, jock captains, who wanted or in this case did not want the awkward, unsatisfactory player. Disappointment, sadness, embarrassment, discomfiture, reflected in glassed over eyes, in the deflated, defeated posture I call my own.
Copyright Corbie Sinclair 2011

Another activity out of my workshop poetry book. One that required that I use my non dominant hand, which in this case is my left hand ,to write a prose poem.

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