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Underdog
I’m for the little guy –
Blue black tan gray green red white
I’m for the guy that lost the fight
That day on the school yard
When the bully stole the nerd’s
hat,
And the nerd let him have it –
The hat that is. And it wasn’t
right.
Demanded fight.
So the little guy Nobody stepped
forward
And said ‘Hey, you can’t do things
like that.’
And the bully laughed, ‘Oh yeah.
Watch this!’
And pushed Nobody’s face/into the
chain link fence;
Massaged it there/while the nerd
looked on
Mewling,/’It’s only a hat. It’s
only a hat.’
Until the little guy Nobody
Had had enough of being a hero,
Feeling the knots of the chain link
fence
Cut into his cheek,
And called it quits.
I’m for that guy
Walkin’ away feelin’ like s--t,
Feelin’ as if he’d lost somethin’
Losin’ to a guy twice his size –
Because, in the movies
A real hero chops those bullies
down,
Sets right the situation.
But it never worked out that way for this
kid
Righteous though he was.
And in his lifetime he found out
That bullies were always winning,
And the nerds were always helpless.
And caught between them,
Forever pathetically engaged,
Were guys like him
Trying to set things right,
Trying to undo the damage,
Trying to live in accordance with
ancient ideals
That even in ancient times
Must have been just that,
Ideals.
But what the hell. I’m for him,
Whoever he is –
Because, even today,
When it comes to a stolen hat,
A stolen chance,
A stolen you name it,
He stands up right in the face of
it,
Come what may, and says,
Hey. Hey. You can’t do things like
that!
Marc
Smith The United States of Poetry
I tend to root for the underdog. Actually, that's an understatement; I always root for the underdog.
Well, this is the story of an underdog winning:
Midsummer, I was at the nursery as I often am, and I spied a plant that was discounted because it was sort of sick looking. (The nursery often puts undesirable plants on sale.) I felt bad for the plant--about 6 inches tall and in a four inch pot, it had yellowing leaves and vivid blue flowers. I bought it not because it would fit my aesthetic, but because I felt bad for it. It was trying to live, to be beautiful, and it was homeless. I took it home and planted it even though it didn't fit with its surrounding flowers. It thrived.
It continued to bloom and grow, but, honestly, it never captured my heart the way the surrounding wild geraniums had. It never made a splash with the bees and butterflies the way the already spent bee-balm had. It simply bloomed and its leaves curled in as if it was not quite sure it liked me or my garden any more than I like it. Then, it started growing pods, long giant, green green-bean like pods--not pretty. Then the pods began to yellow--still not pretty.
On September 22, one of the pods burst. At first I thought I was seeing a spider's web. There was this white ethereal film in the foliage.
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| Wes Reid's photo 9/19 |
I looked closer and realized I was seeing seeds something like those from a dandelion but much bigger. Inside the now open pod were hundreds (if not thousands) of the compacted seeds. Once released, the seeds were silky white ballerinas that danced in the breeze.
I was taken by the gift from my underdog. I can only hope the seeds settle in and next year those blue flowers mingle with the geraniums and the bee-balm that seed in a much less glorious way.
