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Sport 39: 2011

Cold War Games

page 311

Cold War Games

I: The Accountant

J keeps a social ledger.
Inside, he lists the names
of his friends
and keeps scores
for interactions.

the beauty of your
handshake is plus twenty
but your breath is minus twelve,

for example.
He accounts for clicks
and like/dislikes; has a stats app
that’ll blow your
tiny mind.

you bought coffee for another plus
four but the conversation’s lacking
sixty-five this time.

It’s a good system.
J never forgets which
birthdays to remember,
and he’s more popular
than you’ll ever be.

three for the call
but you lose them all
for the nothing that you bring me.

page 312

II: The Writer

G’s been swinging
for fifty years
from a branch
of the tallest tree
in the city’s park.

my next book will be a treatise
on the post-war semicolon and its impact
on the office memo

He makes the books up
there, throws them
on down; they’re heavy leaves
and they thud against
the pavement.

this one’s called porn for
newborns and it’s stuffed
with pretty feathers

He doesn’t mind that
no one picks up the fallen
books. Some are eaten
by the lawnmower. Some
turn back to mulch.

here’s a three-piece epic on
natural selection from the viewpoint
of lindsay lohan’s latest pimple

Sometimes people visit
the park to get a look
at him. It might be
why he keeps
on doing it.

page 313

III: The Deserter

T’s simply an otter
that binds itself
to anchored kelp
and sleeps sea-bound
on its back.

i don’t know what
the otter’s
thinking

Sometimes, it takes
a rock from the bottom
and hammers it into a clam,
its floating belly
used as anvil.

maybe it’s thinking
about the food
inside of it

Smashed shells sink
back to their seabeds and
raw red clam meat coats
the otter’s oily whiskers.
It stinks.

mammals usually
think of
mating

Each clam is feeding
on the kelp. They’re chewing away
at the roots of an anchor
that keeps the otter
from drifting out to sea.

it couldn’t be
thinking
of duty