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Game 4 (poem)

This is in reply to dajafi's poem about tonight's epic game. It is a short poem so this sentence only serves to get me over the 75-word limit. There.

 

 

 

 

Game 4

Santa Ana winds  

swirling above Chavez Ravine  

rendered to embers  

the familiar scripted houses  

of mass-broadcast, supposed-to-be fame.

 

When it all burned clean  

Left standing was the bearded guy 

Substantial; well traveled

Coining the new currency  

of fame. Redemption.     

Honest earning. Of hard luck turned.

  

The ball carried deep to right. In this new America   

It has yet to land.   

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                               

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