Discobolus

No matter what dim things
My diminutive offerings,
They seem to enthrall;
Like a dog’s slimed-up ball,

You receive them as if
They were a gift,
A transfiguring act,
Not a sobering fact,

Turning winded throws
Into athletic shows;
As lame as they are:
Pure caviar;

My total losses
Bionic tosses—
Not that credit is due:
It’s entirely you

Whose manner supposes
Apotheosis.

February 19th, 2002