by Tim Chiu
The sport of bowling in abstract - different ways in different alleys - a poem.
|This might be the year of invention,
A colossal education granted,
Rooted on by cherished local youths,
Families, and teachers of all shapes and values.
Or it may never be let go into the vast, bully pulpit
Of strained hearts and endless nightmares
In which egos regularly depart,
A chance not to be taken
For the eyes, ears, and vague shadows
Of the luminescent fog moving forward.
For the straighter, more direct path
In one saintly, historic person’s house
Is tampered with and comes to lack of fruition
In another’s demonstrative home,
Showing care and concern that both amateurs
Realize their much anticipated
And much earned freedom;
A compromise that local children,
Parents, and counselors
Can rarely afford,
Yet comes to heads bearing a striking
Resemblance to neither uncles, aunts,
Nor neighbors –
A school with not less than two
And students begging vocally
For a whole neighborhood
Of modern, adult-like existences!