Hearts grow fond of
Each other’s company.
It’s a wonder our
Legs don’t grow together
Breaking the ribbon
In a three-legged race.
Empty sadness
At the fair’s end
Consoled by first prize and
Some chocolate pie
Winner’s pride
Soon subsides as
Lonely gloating
Gets silly in the backseat
Or the rearview mirror.
Tiny wrinkles in your skin
Just like his
Give away the prize
Laughingly you embrace
You own reflection
As your only friend
At the end of every competition
The race goes on
So, produce or
Be e-rased.
You can dance and play
But you are nothing
Until you create
The taste is sweet
Of any game.