The athletes don't hide it:
like wrestling, each game's rigged,
a spectacle, with players there
merely to sweat,
and act the motions.
The figure
behind the curtains
always takes credit
for that standing O--
a finger skyward,
a humbled bow,
a postgame shoutout--
And like any good star
knows exactly when to hide
from the public eye,
shading any blame
for that crucial defeat.
2 comments:
The metaphors are all over the place, I know. I'm tired of all the athletes thanking God for the victory and giving Him all the credit: I can probably express my exasperation with this far better though. Again, I'm just not feeling it this week.
I know exactly what you mean. If there is a God, do you really think he would give a shit about an insignificant sporting event? I like how the first stanza makes each sporting event preordained. And the last stanza is a nice little slap in the face for the athletes and God himself. My only suggestion would be to capitalize "figure" in the second stanza to clue the reader more to the idea of the "Superstar" being you-know-who. You might not be feeling it this week, but you still wrote a damn good poem.
BTW, I would like to thank God for giving me the power to write this post.
Post a Comment