July 13, 2014On July 8
The man who waved the mock
trophy was the saddest. The boy
who wiped his tears and smeared green
and yellow paint on his collar
was the saddest. The model who
watched with her taxi driver boyfriend
and also the hotel doorman were both
the saddest. The teenager who picked
out a soda as the first goal went in,
waited in line during the second,
then paid the clerk as the net wafted
again in the third was the saddest.
The woman who played with her
grandson on the carpet in front of the
TV was the saddest, as was the grandson
himself, just full of great sadness.
Even the painter, listening to the radio
as he mixed the most lovely, exact
shade of violet on his palette, the saddest.
Saddest of all the countries, poor Brazil
was. No one else was waiting like
they were! No one else was at home,
watching round after round fire
and find its target all those many times,
collapsing joys as vital as lungs.
from Poets Respond