I’ll body-slam strangers.
Half the time I’ll pretend
it’s an accident. The other half
I’ll take a running start & cut
hard into the torso with
a hockey stop.
I’ll feel much better in my second skin.
I’ll be less shy & in control of my
thirty-percent rubber, four-percent gelatin
I’ll invite all the local men
to dig for my biceps,
triceps, hamstrings, &
glutes, shiny with wonder like little boys
dipping their mittened-paws into soft snow.
“Mush!” I’ll yell they’ll & drag me, tied
to the sled, further into the tundra—barking
their secret language.