Sweet foe
You win
History would predict
Time and again
Stubborn and stiff
This is not knowledge
It is plainly evident
At the root of our selfness
This modus operandi
That we all know too well
The losing streak
Turned into a persona
For fathers to wear
In front of their kids
Like a steak on one's eye
Like a little tutu
Hiding a ruffled mess
Of dirt and leaves
Kicking a can
Into the street
Embarrassed to make eye contact
With your nearest neighbor
A personal grievance
Turned public
A fist in the air
A rake in the grass
Torches and brooms
A bad hand of cards
Some reason to quit
Head back to the bunkers
Fight another day
Or not
--
2.11.08
You win
History would predict
Time and again
Stubborn and stiff
This is not knowledge
It is plainly evident
At the root of our selfness
This modus operandi
That we all know too well
The losing streak
Turned into a persona
For fathers to wear
In front of their kids
Like a steak on one's eye
Like a little tutu
Hiding a ruffled mess
Of dirt and leaves
Kicking a can
Into the street
Embarrassed to make eye contact
With your nearest neighbor
A personal grievance
Turned public
A fist in the air
A rake in the grass
Torches and brooms
A bad hand of cards
Some reason to quit
Head back to the bunkers
Fight another day
Or not
--
2.11.08
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