Sport Poems
Voodoo bowling, with
every pin someone
who has scorned me.
I never bowl a perfect game.
But it does not matter,
I'd need more than 300
To settle all my pains.
Playing pool for souls
We stare into holes
Wondering: what did
It mean -- solids
Instead of stripes.
And was it just hype,
Number 8 my soul
Falling after all?
The white ball was
Innocence because
It kept being hit, and
We refused to quit.
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