Thin and harmless
he has been that boy
eight, nine, and ten years old
nothing seems special about him
sailing in his own mind
glued to his thick dreams
slicing the blocks of imagination
racing for the identity of a grown-up
he starts his maturity in the corridor
balancing a plastic drug bottle cap
between his two bony feet
claiming he is Platini or Maradona
dribbling through imaginary bodies
showing flexibility, speed and skills fans die for
and when he gets the Ahhhhs in his ears
from the faces hanging on the wall
he makes a double-kick
elevating his wishes in the air
landing his bones on the cold tile
scoring a magic goal into the space between the two sides of the bedroom door
to add more legitimacy to the game
and justification to his legend
he switches loyalty between the two soccer teams
playing an honest defense for a few minutes
and simultaneously playing offense
he turns the old white refrigerator in the middle of the corridor
into one of his annoying adversaries
at night they make up when he visits for dessert
he is quick to get the plastic cap underneath the elevated black wooden base
squeezing his body between the bruised door and the wall
sliding in the open space falling for glory
he is also the referee
he decides when there's a goal and when there's foul play
When an offside should be called and who's guilty and who is not
and how solo games in life should be judged?
he ends the close game as the winner
unsatisfied, he continues his journey
by bringing history from the closet
knotting the blue bath towel around his neck as his cape
and the broom stick as his sword
he is Tareq ibn Ziyad
he is about to conquer Iberia
while peeing he plans the arrangement of his soldiers in the ally
his army should be aligned somehow in the road
connecting the living room and the kitchen
it seems inevitable that they have to cross the pond in front of the kitchen
created by his mother while cleaning
he shouldn’t attack on a Friday...
they should avoid the passage over the newly washed rug
the shoe marks would be easy to identify
bringing on a fierce confrontation with his mother
he would end up loosing that battle
he consults his plastic commanders sitting on the floor
while relaxing on his sticky leather chair
he decides to pull back and spend the evening in his camp
he put his sword on the floor and takes off his cape
convinced it was a strategic move
© 2009 Khaled KE Mahmoud
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