The Retort

Monet pictures and seafood dinners,
Paris, London, Tahiti, Rome – 
This game of Life has announced the winners. 
Is it the one who calls a bridge his home?

‘Fraid not, fear not,
It is the one who tires of excess.
Ben Franklin embodies a wrinkle, a spot;
Travels, stories, status impress.

Behind the cracked dirt-stained face,
Cries a brave warrior, a concave man, a shattered place -
The hollow of the underpass, his only saving grace.
Not far, a reporter stands as stoic as he can.

He narrates to the city station,
Quiver or shake absent in his honeyed voice.
The thought of hard struggle, a novel innovation.
In his mind, the dismal trolls have made their choice.

The warrior intently stares on,
Cut to his bloody knees keeps praying.
Not soon enough will the sun warm the dawn,
The scream for night to end pierces without saying.

The reporter exits the scene.
Away to wherever the victor fancies going,
Everything is a choice when it’s all pristine.
The path to the sun, the man has no way of knowing.