Do you remember, Ava?
It was only a little
more than a year ago, but
it seems so long,
far past,
when we used to drive along
the dusty roads of
Poway,
Escondido,
El Cajon,
even Carmel Mountain Ranch,

listening to the Red Hot
Chili Peppers, looking for
adventure.
Girls’ adventure.

We probably weren’t
the best
managers the team could have
hoped for.
We left tournaments
early to go shopping or
to get ethnic foods.
Sometimes
we just got donuts. We did
our job, though,
as best as could
be expected from a pair
of seventeen-year-old girls:

keeping score, taking pictures,
video taping,
"Oh-say-can-you-see"ing.
Getting mad
when the guys went out behind
the building to smoke pot
but
didn’t take us with them.

You
even went so far as to
give some of them massages,
and one of them
head.

Is this what we’re going to
remember, Ava?
When we’re
older
and we think of high school?
That we were whores
to a wrestling team
that never won?