The championship game,
I could not think of a worse time to sprain my wrist.
The only word that I could think of was
Pop!
As the referee encases my arm in bubble wrap.
As my coach calls me over for practice, I am expecting a total failure.
My team expects nothing out of me.
No play time,
No points scored,
Nothing productive coming out of me.

My monstrous arm, what looked like a smoldering lava fountain, bubbling to the brim.
In the seas of chaos, the only unadapted soul is my own.
I am not used to this.
I cannot think of another way to help my team.
I’m on the basketball court,
And in the heat of my game,
Nothing productive coming out of me.

As I see them from the sideline, disappointed to watch my team play without me,
Trying to cover up the damage that I had made.
I wonder what would have happened if I didn’t sprain my wrist one week ago.
Then maybe, just maybe,
Something productive would come out of me.