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.
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.