Training With Koolaen, Part 6 (fantasy nonfiction travel writing)

More of my fantasy soccer travel writing for your evening, end of week reading…

KyrumFoot

By W.T. tuqMairtin, an excerpt from the novel “Povs In Kyrum”

As Kældurn and I were winding down with our stretching a trainer came up and introduced herself to me as Lo’o’toag. She knelt down by Kældurn as he bent my feet back and held my knees. “Is it ok if I touch you? I’d like to check out your muscle and tendon tension.”

“Sure.” I replied. She had a very calm presence about her. Her head was large and broad, her forehead especially. Her hair was dreaded, but short. A headband pushed the short dreads up, but it wasn’t the yellow and black headband. It was white with outlines of blue flowers and yellow stars in their center. She smelled like fresh cedar.

Lo’o’toag pressed behind my right knee with two fingers. She motioned to Kældurn to continue stretching me. “You’ve had this knee replaced, haven’t you?”

“Wow,” I…

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STD Clinic Poem

The Coach said not to.

He said simply,

“When it comes up over the hill,
just don’t do it guys,
don’t do it.”

Now you’re wondering where the Camaro is.
Why did it go away?
Why has it not come back around the corner?

But the sun knew the desert well.
The damn desert goes on and on,
and well,
the desert knows the sun.
These are not really consolations for you.
I’m sorry.

The Coach entered the bathroom
and there were tiles,
they were turquoise and plaster tiles,

and he said clearly,
“get me out of here”.

Then
we watched them throw tiles at Coach’s
lifeless body.

The sunrise was beautiful as we wept
and raised our crusty eyes with spatial baptisms.
We wondered why they would do that to our Coach.

We’d been through so much with that guy,
even the Petroleum Wars
where he kept it tuned to AM 1280
and we hid underground.

 

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin