Nerves Like Hot Turf

Fried eggs and toast for breakfast.

It tasted fine until it came back up, along with the

two acid-washed ibuprofen tablets I took to stop

the knives in my shins.

I’m the only one wearing layers.

I always pack extra clothes just in case

it rains. Worse to be cold than too warm.

Anything under 80 and tights are required.

It’s my turn and I fly.

All the nervous energy is expelled in the form of extreme focus and diligence.

The smell of hot turf fills my mind and

I’ve crossed the finish line.

My teammates howling, hugging, cheering.

I’ve pulled us into the lead

The nerves are gone

Coach smiles and says, “Next time you don’t need layers.”