Category Archives: Poetry

Racquetball, draft 2


We sweat
and swat the ball against
the wall—a satisfying
pop and thrum on the tight-
strung racket cords.
The room is an empty box
filled with squeaks,
rubber elisions on the blonde
wood floor. Overhead
are white lights: this place
feels sterile, this place feels
like the slow expansion
space makes as it ages.
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