All were moving.

Teammates crowding Richie—

fetal     moaning     cradling

his fractured foot—

Coaches huddled

with first aid supplies, combing

for a splint wrap.

I had accidently slide-tackled


My babysitter scolded me.

Mud stained my soccer shorts.

Inside my nightmare

my babysitter’s there     again

stripping himself—

unconsciously skillful—

his skinny body walking

window to window

wrenching all the curtains closed

Sunup will not wake us


He kills the lights—

I pray

he will stop showing me

how to stroke the way

that gets him off.

The soccer shorts

are still crumpled

where the babysitter

tossed them

in the corner of the closet—

years after he took me

I’m still afraid

to open it.

Don’t ask me

what happened to Richie…

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