I Dove Headfirst Into Your Bleachers Without Thinking

on the right track

I Dove Headfirst Into Your Bleachers Without Thinking


I wish you were

my camera scar


instead of my everyday

flesh wound


I wish photography

hadn’t got in the way

of our trick shots


I wish this poem was better

then it’s been


but it can’t help itself


keeps missing almost all of its

jump shots


I wish it’d stop doing that


and hit things


but if we got what we wanted

there wouldn’t be any wanting


and you can’t run a world without wanting


or maybe you can

but if you could

I wouldn’t know


that world,

it’s all alien

to me


my world’s held together

by wanting


like a scalp wound

held together by

a blunt camera lens indentation

and glue


I watched something like that

happen on TV last night


and then I watched it

a hundred more times

over and over again


when I was a kid I watched

a movie in which a young

Gary Coleman lived in a locker


not that this has anything to do with anything

other than: this; happened. too.


pretty sure I only watched the locker house movie



details can be fuzzy, but I know what

happened after


Gary Colman grew up to be an older version

of Gary Colman


the locker he lived in grew up

to be a photographer


I grew up to be the guy

who dove headfirst into your bleachers

without thinking


the crowd screams like a bucket of

Alanis Morissette songs


as I limp back to the locker room

to bleed all over everything


until the next game

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