Follow Vishal Dutia on WordPress.comShe stares at his players
who turn him into aging wood,
make him sexless as his little finger.
When he tries to talk to her,
his sentences dissolve, the nouns
and verbs all floating mute
into the sky’s blue ear.
He knows why his players
lift and curl. He sees them
tightening their belts. Bodies
that well built should build
a house, knock a bully
on his can. But after practice,
Coach can only see his daughter
getting in their cars, feel
their muscles sweating on her skin.
© VishalDutia
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