The Scrimmage
By Candy Royalle
Published 1 January 2021
There is violence here
an abundance of it
fists and elbows and tongues that lash out
ankles and knees that fight to keep balance
this is violence.
There are gestures of thrusting hips
arms extended
anger exposed
speed enticed by wheels of rubber and steel
sounds of strained voices
this is violence.
Apparently there is no fresh meat here.
These skates are worn
by bearers of flesh experienced
to the feel of burning skin
red raw from fishnets rubbing surfaces exposed
to the elements of an unforgiving floor
this is violence.
One body is lost on the battle field.
A veteran flat on her back
cries out in agony
for she has been winded
wiped out
wrecked.
All her sisters
on the same side and opposing
All her sisters64
fall onto bended knee
stationary
- except for their wheels
which continue to turn
sighing in their trucks
perhaps the thoughts of those that wear them
(getupgetupgetupgetupgetup)
as stripes flock about her
flapping squawking
placing hands with the lightness of feathers
upon her panting body
she rises with a cry
and all applaud
this is violence placated.
The scrimmage starts again
the circle is skated
and if there were ice
it would be thin
For:
bones be brittle
and tones be laden
with frothing spittle
declaring the calls of an imitated war
and the reasons (or lack of) for
this is violence.