A Game

As an ignorant infant I cried
for success, threw tantrums
demanding academic perfection
and enlarged like a carnival balloon
when I upstaged my expectations
but now I settle for academic average
balanced on the tip of a curve.
This isn’t my juvenile game: no matter
how many milk bottles I shatter
my balloon stays popped
and my hands stay miserable free.
I left the carnival alone.
What are my winnings,
if I can’t watch their reflection
manipulated by the light in his
domineering gaze?



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s