The Player Loses a Round

The Player Loses a Round

That’s all right,
OK, we’re still rolling,
we’re still drivin’ on.

In my dark tone plaid pants
and pink polo shirt,
smack’n the sidewalks with white
leather square-topped long-toed shoes.

Not quite as interested and sympathetic
as I was, you see, supposed to be–
falling, then, to jabber and to jaw,
jus’ mostly scramblin’
for a way past her troubles
into her giggle, smile, safety net.

All right, so she, pale, in light
airy, matching shirt and shorts–
white with jungle leaves in greens
like normal, but then purples, reds
other edges, colors that give one pause–,
so she, with freckles on pixie nose,
takes off without a word,
having skipped your open palm.

Poor guy! Ah gee! It’s tough out there
in the wild rough old lonesome world!
Good thing you’ve got your baby-doll
back home to treat you right.
The wisdom of a back-up!
You’ll be on your feet again soon enough.

The wisdom of a back-up face, hands,
butt, chest, center, voice and spirit–
a girl who sweetly calls your name,
who schedules with your family,
who reminds you about recycling,
and loves you all the time.


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