Moving The Chains On 4Th & 1 by Steven Storrie

God damn
Phillips yells
The locker room
A cacophony of sound
You have to be some kind of sicko
To make a play like that
He slaps me on the back heartily
And the pain shoots through my bones

An hour later I’m still there
Holding my helmet
Standing in a towel
Though I’m long since dry

My beaten body looks pasty
Not enough tattoos
My hair and my face
Are just a little off
Not quite where
I’d like them to be
The others seem to be so cool
Have everything in place
Just so
They wear the right clothes
Have the perfect beard and tattoos
Are their best selves
All the time.

My wounds howl in hot water
I know I won’t be making the team
Still, I can take a beating like no other
That is something to be thankful for
I suppose.

Steven Storrie 2
Steven Storrie has worked as a cable T.V repair man, dishwasher, choreographer, ice cream vendor and junk yard attendant. Tired of this he is currently locked in his basement working on his first full collection of poetry, bickering with his neighbours over nothing and storing the baseballs he keeps when they are hit into his yard. His first collection of short stories, We Are Not The Kids We Used To Be, will be released in November by DevilHouse Press. You can find him at the website he runs, ‘Black Coffee For Breakfast’, at

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