On Writing

Poem 206 – Olympics I

Olympics I

olympics on the flat screen
stay on like the air conditioner
we pretend we are commentators
curl into giddy laughter at our
stream-of-consciousness comedy
discover we are bad at saying last names

I eat cucumbers slathered in hummus
while teen girls tear across a bouncy floor
flip like parlor rollers & single starlings

then a 46-year-old woman explodes
off the vault in a feat named after her
we are silenced ā€“ awed
standing ovations whisk her
into a new future
a different kind of flying

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