The substitute goalie is set to play.
He hopes his gloves are as sticky
on the outside as they are on the inside.
His team’s fans are on the other side of the moon.
The sun is in his eyes. He can hear
his manager’s chewing gum taking
one hell of a beating. The whistle blows
and a thousand different colours
start running around the green lava.
He could’ve sworn people had faces earlier.
All he can see is every mistake he could
possibly make today and the ball floats
into his box and the blobs at the end of his wrists
catch it. He stands still. He has a chat
with his defenders. He wants to ask them
how they are, but just screams
they should be working harder.
© Carl Burkitt 2021