Losing with good humor
—a skill at which I’d rather not become adept
By dint of earnest repetition
Alas, it seems this is the
Awkward grace I’m granted
Opportunity to practice
OK, then—get it right
The outward forms are not so hard
The smile, the bow, the hand that grasps
Transferring strength to victor from the vanquished
Grab the body cord and tug
Gently extract the splintered pride
That’s lodged beneath my nails
Neatly mark my name
Scribble without jabbing through the slip
That documents my every defect, touch by touch
Thank the ref no matter what
(drunk, hung over, deafened by his ear buds, generous with cards)
Neatly pack and stow my sodden gear
And turn to cheer my teammates
Ruthlessly suppressing jealousy
That flares with every lovely touch that is not mine
So this is my assignment:
Acceptance of abiding
In a world I can’t manipulate
To suit my ends
At this rate, there’s chance I’ll reach perfection
Then can I move on to study victory?
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