life is not a milkshake (poem for the olympics)

the chairman dances, and the council
calls it a lavendar extravagance, a flamingo,
a woo hoo holiday in overpriced pants

as though pandas starving were a lark,
as though carving faces into mountains
was a method of paying ancestral debts

perhaps if he wrapped his head in yellow,
the machines would better obey, the animals
would come when called. the giraffes.

across the border trumpets blare. it’s meant
to cause a hollow feeling in the hurdlers,
and javelin throwers, and 50 yard dashers.

they’re big. the trumpets. and although trained
in heraldry, in incantatory affirmations,
lately they’ve been seen carrying knives.

so the coffee gets cold. the windows rattle,
and on the ice he’s landing a triple dipple,
a whisper ripples through the thronged spectators…