I feel for the player who
has bobbled the ball,
swung at a third strike,
missed the tying field goal,
fell to the canvas, knocked out.
Winners are hoisted, feted, and cheered,
while losers trudge back
to their locker rooms,
refusing to give exit interviews.
We glorify those who have reached
the top of the mountain,
and focus the media’s spotlight upon them.
But what paltry words do we save
for the majority of us who have failed to win,
“Nice try?” “You’ll get ’em next time?”
Poor bandage for wounds inside.
The playing field rolls out as metaphor
for the few winners in life,
while the rest of us just struggle
to push back the clock,
play out the string,
before time has all too quickly expired.