god ruminates upon the decision to break an athlete's legs

“Yes. A spider. Of unreasonable size,

yes. I tell you, Matilda, you let these

little fuckers crawl around and they

think they own the place.”

 

Groaning fingers stretch out,

striving to reach obsolescence in the

form of a landline home phone.

 

The click of the receiver

sounds like a click.

The grimace is an approximate

impression of a smile.

 

Gossiping takes practice when

time is never of the essence.

God has not aged well and

is in danger of becoming

a neo-spiritualist. He wears

glasses like Buddy Holly and

practices yoga. Stay

flexible. Stay relevant.

 

Prime time, baby. I’ve

waited for this –

 

Having talent is a skill. As

is rendering talent obsolete when

someone has to be. Goddamnit.

He’s gone and done it. He’s

broken those legs that made

strong men cry.

 

Read my lips, he says,

and burps.

 

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/5a929u/the_girl_on_the_train/d9ep3gm/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/5a6mty/the_olympics/d9epkos/