Game 4 (poem)
by Wet Luzinski on Oct 14, 2008 1:00 AM EDT
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PrintThis 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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