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
Richie…
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
prematurely
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…