Jarrett Neal considers that familiar rite of passage from childhood to adolescence–the boys’ locker room.
—
When You’re Thirteen
No one tells you that from now on locker rooms
Will embody both heaven and hell. Your sweaty
Hands will tremble and clutch your jock strap’s
Elastic band just before they quickly descend
To your knees and the wooden ruler’s edge
Suspends beneath your hairless penis. Every boy
Leaves something of himself, earnest and indelible,
On the field, or the court, or the shower tiles: secret
Tear drops, a gush of blood, smashed pride, the victory
Cry that became an SOS to a father
Unmet or a lover too afraid to respond. Somewhere
Between the dawn’s early light and your post-
Workout shake the world will expose all its green.
***
If you liked this poem, check out the other one Jarrett Neal’s published with us–“Night Train.”
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Photo by Jake May /Flickr