by Tim Chiu
A better reason to measure moments in reflection - a sports poem.
|Walking three blocks, there’s a city of roles,
Bankers, real chefs, public transit, potholes.
Gyms to work out in, hot hell’s fill a scene;
Shoppers, bay cruisers, an agent sees green.
A contract, some athlete makes fuel, plenty ammo.
Climbing, balls brutal, a glutton, new sorrow.
A pausing of many with vacant aplomb.
More to the point, are those theories your chum?
Punish your spirit, take aim, drink a double.
Shots with a purpose, grooved chin wearing stubble.
Maybe replies seem a victory of sorts,
But alter those bookends with much better retorts.
Careful and quiet, calm down, and pretend.
Never fly solo, convinced you won’t bend.
No new ups and downs, don’t file away memories,
There isn’t much proof of the tending to stories.
Once you acknowledge it, phase in a zone;
Guess what, you fruitcake, it’s sports, quite unknown.
Your pretty good feelings, a value extreme.
But after war, baby, it’s worth someone’s dream.