When Mrs. Ostrich blew
the whistle, the whole
high school knew
that meant business—she’d call
us sissies
or girls for running
too slow. Lazy himself, after
teaching Study Hall, Coach Gray
had a cow if we looked at all
tired but put in a soft word,
a good hustle for every
Amy or awkward devil
who couldn’t swing
to save their lives, much less
break a tie. He never
bothered to teach them
a thing. The gym echoed
the tons of times those two
coaches met, hidden among
the Driver’s Ed cars
or the dull
steel-tipped arrows
& half-deflated dodgeballs
that hibernate till spring—
the duo doing
their tug-oh-
war thing.