Steve Brisendine

First, Do No Harm

For most of us, it passed quickly – a cupped
and lingering hand, a “careless” thumb-strum
           when we turned our heads.

Cough, move on, keep your mouth shut.
Our parents paid for gloves, high-tops, cleats;
            we bore competition’s hidden fees,

resigned to the trade-off for his signature, for
a chance to take the field and try to run off
            a shame both ours and his.

He had official sanction. He walked sidelines.
Boys grew up, became men with trophies
            and letters and scars.

Either those who cared didn’t know, or
the other way around; small towns keep
            their secrets in plain view.

We kept our own scores, though – not on
lighted boards, but out of the corners
            of eyes and mouths.

He had Camaros. He had Corvettes. He had
favorites who drove them. We kept track,
            snickered behind backs.

The favored swore innocence on both sides,
dragged Main in his cars to pick up girls
            in the Pizza Hut parking lot.

Denial is an eternal currency. He passed
free as a meadowlark, and no stories ever
            broke, no gavel ever fell.

I worked the sports desk for three years at
the hometown daily; I never dug, never pushed.
            My shame-share is double.

Now, too late, tongues and typing fingers
are looser. Even so, he remains a grim shrug,
            a greasy smiling euphemism,

a bland-faced ghost with soft chill hands;
he never even bothered to put gloves
            between his want and our skin.

Steve Brisendine, a recovering journalist who still wrangles words for a living, lives and works in Mission, KS. His most recent books are Salt Holds No Secret But This (2022, Spartan Press) and To Dance with Cassiopeia and Die (2022, Alien Buddha Press), a “collaboration” with his former pen name, Stephen Clay Dearborn. His first collection, The Words We Do Not Have (2021, Spartan Press) was nominated for the 2021 Thorpe Menn Literary Excellence Award.