White satin track suit
garlanded gold—
no sweat
beading his head—
our hero cocks
a cool eyebrow
at the loser (confused, staring
into the grass, into
the chalky distance),
who only just a minute ago
was giving not quite
as good as he got.
>> here & now (the latest instapoem)
Monday, July 6, 2009
match point
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