a legend

He

won’t remember

but

I’ll remember it for

the

rest of my

life.

 

In fall 2008, the Riders had a

bye-week and as part

of some community-thing

Darian Durant and a small group

of Riders came to Melville,

Saskatchewan,

which is my hometown.

 

Him and another non-starting QB

and a Receiver were sent,

and Jerrel Freeman and an Offensive

Lineman were sent.

 

They

practiced with

us.

 

Durant threw passes

with the QB’s and Receivers.

They were in the field.

 

I ran drills with Jerrel Freeman

and the DB’s and Linebackers.

We were in the end-zone.

 

The Big Boys were

with the O-Lineman at the

other end of the field.

They hit each other

or something.

 

Later on we had

one-on-one’s.

 

It was Receivers vs DB’s

and I played DB.

 

Nope. I don’t think I ever

got thrown to by Durant.

 

How I remember it, Darian

was over with the Running Backs

and they were with the Linemen

and the Linebackers. We were

with the other QB that

was there.

 

Once, though,

this one lanky Receiver

I was covering did a

button hook;

in pads that’s a move that

actually works out

for the defenseman —

it’s a free

cross-check

to the Receiver’s ribs

without anyone

noticing.

 

But we weren’t in pads.

No helmets, either.

 

The play began and the

Receiver ran out forwards as if

eyeing the end-zone,

but then,

he stopped on a dime, he turned

as if to catch a pass, and then he

turned again,

hoping that I was fooled

by the fake-out.

 

Only, when he stopped

and turned to fake me out

he snapped his head back somehow

while I was still

lunging towards him, hoping

to give him a sharp jab

from behind.

 

My hands were down.

 

I have a huge nose.

 

It naturally

made

impact first —

 

Crunch.

 

It didn’t break.

 

It was a gusher,

though.

 

I had to stand off

to the side

and wait there like

a duntz,

leaning forwards,

letting the red stream run

until someone got me

paper towel.

 

It was the Receiver

who

got me in the nose

who

got me the paper

towel.

 

Thanks buddy.

 

And thanks

so much

to

Mr. Durant.

 

Afterwards, he signed

my bloody practice jersey, and

I still have it,

from the day Darian Durant

came to my hometown

and

practiced with

 

us.

 

poetry is a void

poetry is a void

 

i

S C R E A M

into it

 

i

b  l  e  e  d

into it

 

i jack off

and uhh!

into it

 

poetry

is sneaking up on

the muse from behind

grabbing her hips

feeling muscles twitch

as she turns around and as she

turns you go up with your

hands and slide them up b/w her

shoulder-wings and one goes further

squeezes the back of her neck

the other is gliding round so her

breast is in the groove b/w the thumb

and index finger and then her nipple

is in between the thumb and

index finger gently pulling

rolling it a little

as she breathes in and out

the blood rushing

up

and

down

you can feel it

the blood rushing

in

the other hand that still

gently squeezes the back of her

neck

 

poetry is holding

the muse and

going

in

to kiss

her before pulling back

making her promise,

 

 “Stay the

night,

at least?” i whisper

 

into the

 

void.