Gymnausium

The metal double doors slam open into the cavernous room

thirty boys, thirteen year-olds charge out on to the floor

the goose flesh on their spindly legs

shorts and t-shirts stiff with dried sweat

worn again and again, seldom washed, the smell,

the squeak of running shoes

jocks and non-jocks

the ones running and those standing

arms around our middles to ward off the cold

a whistle and everyone starts to run up and down the floor

a sudden stop, turn around and run back

some boys seem to be able to keep this on forever

the rest of us are gasping after two rounds

the fit and the non-fit

some mouths smiling, others cannot be opened wide enough

there is not enough oxygen in this room to ease our torment

we hate this

another whistle and we’re divided into teams

balls magically appear

more running

balls bouncing passed then shot upwards

the hoops, the nets

most shots are missed then more running

the opposite direction

shouts of “here, here”

by now we’re bending over gasping

while others keep running and shouting

“how do they do that?”

now for the worst part

a whistle “off to the showers”

clothes come off, nakedness

the snickers, those with hair

and those without