thoughts are the dust
of old ceilings, somebody
else’s floor

I remember coach Aker
calling me soccer queer
Running 7 miles
while the football players
watched tapes of themselves

I’d go back to class all
sweaty, or wet from rain
I’d wonder about the girls
I’d think of them in a way
that was like
drawing scientifically

Looking back now
is like seeing an early drawing
of an animal. The octopus
with vertical pupils
a heavily-armed rhinoceros

that up-close flea
Is what I think I am
supposed to be?