Participation

The ball rolled between his ankles

and kept going toward the fence.

It’s the kind of small sting that rankles

because it makes a terrible sense.

The other kids didn't even get mad,

they just exhaled a long, collective sigh.

He stood there looking small and sad

under the flat, indifferent sky.

He wiped his hands on his polyester shorts,

leaving a smear of green mud on the hem.

He’s learning the logic of fields and sports:

that some of us are the backdrop for them.