The Striker Talks with the Doctor

I might have said it hurts
worse when you squeezed my knee,
twisted it medial to lateral,
or when you gripped my meniscus
with your thumb,
rubbed up and down the tibia

and I might have jumped more
when you thumbed my IT band.
I might have screamed Uncle
the way I do when my cousin
squeezes my wrist just this side
of cracking the bone, but I bit

my cheeks, stared at your stethoscope,
said my knee feels better,
willed my eyes not to leak.
Hands that know skin and muscle,
lump and tendon, know lies.
The painted sun on the wall poster

did not change colors. Cranberry red.
Red as my cheeks when you said
the team needs your leg tonight,
but you need your leg tomorrow
and tomorrow, so take off
your jersey, take off your pads.

John Davis is the author of Gigs and The Reservist. His work has appeared recently in DMQ Review, Harpur Palate, Iron Horse Literary Review, One and Rio Grande Review. A retired teacher, he moonlights in blues and rock and roll bands.