April 22nd - Fair Nike

Your stench could overwhelm a stubborn crow
Who never feared the woes of stink.
Musty, rancid, rank, and fetid,
none of these do justice to your general decrepitude.
The duct-tape, fused into your man-made skin,
has wrinkled, wears the stain of time just like your face,
and somewhat hides your funk --
but not enough to help your case.

When I lift you up to throw you out,
I meditate on all we’ve shared --
mostly against my will, most likely due to your vicious reek --
My flesh and blood, sweat, tears, the mud
of victories from bygone years,
thirteen hundred miles of aching legs,
searing lungs, seething coaches,
spikes in calves and bloody noses.
Dances with the grassy knolls,
or pavement strewn with trodden holes.
Miles on miles in rain and snow,
cars honking while some drunken student
yells Go Forrest Go --
And Lord Almighty do you smell!

You broke me once again, fair Nike --
armless, headless, wingéd, she --
so you shall stay inside that unwilling closet,
turning it miasmic with your gamy breath.
Do not get the wrong idea about all this:
I do not love you. I don’t! Think it all you want.
I only feel the faintest remorse when I look down
and see clean, functional white kicks.