through life’s misfortunes, the scars
of battle form the ageless wrinkles
on our brow – symbols of survival;
As we crisscross our way around
life’s continuum, our ostrich-like
countenance protects us from
the losers, and the winners
proclaim their loss of sacrifice;
As we pretend not to notice those
who are less fortunate or those
wear-not their scars well,
we are allowed to redeem ourselves weekly
and revel in the joys of humility, as
we self-proclaim our self-indulgence –
our narcissism frees us from
petty jealousies and the adulation
of the winner’s circle… and,
how often must we yield our crown
the following year to a new victor –
a new winner whose skill or lack of
competition far out-weighs the
tumultuous claim-to-fame
in which we sometimes find ourselves.
March 31, 1984
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