The Pianist

cinque.

green
beneath his feet
soft grass

lone figure
empty stadium
harsh lights

it's eerie
practicing
free and penalty and corner
kicks
for no crowd

no celebrations
as the ball
bulges
into the back
of the net
again
and again
and again and again

he should stop
two hours
it's enough

he's exhausted
sweat drips off of him
throat parched
muscles aching

one more
becomes
five more
mindless drill

it must be
thirty-five
to nil
by now

he plays
by himself
yet
against himself
body versus mind
civil war

only he can win
but there is no victor

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transfer window makes me very nervous, wbu?

xx alina