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Paper Cut MAG
That first step into the gym,
a glimpse
dozens of faces
anonymous and strange.
I wonder who will make the cut.
Will I?
The coach in the corner
watches with the keen eye of a hawk.
Her eyes focus on me.
I tense up as I see the look on her face.
She's watching. Show her what you've got,
I think to myself.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.
I wonder whether I will be around after cuts.
Will I be one of the lucky few to
make the team?
Friday,
try-outs end.
Coach says, "Names will be posted.
Good luck."
After tripping on the front step
to the holy building,
I dash to that sacred piece of paper
which I hope holds my name.
Breathing heavily,
I round the corner
and see the sheet of paper
in the distance on the wall.
I run so fast that I slam my body
against the hard red bricks.
Slowly
I start to scan the list
for my name.
Two thirds of the way down
I see it,
staring back at me in bright blue ink.
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