Men is dark suits and club ties
wielding dollars and promises,
bid for his young panther body,
poised and sleek in the marketplace.
Grace and skill, courage and heart,
he soared above the pack.
He has a good football brain as well
they declared afterwards, at the Club.
Soft-haired moth-girls danced in his flame
Choose me. Choose me.
Their whisper wings stirred his body
but his heart belonged to the Club.
His name was chanted in a litany of praise
till his Judas body betrayed him.
He’s lost his edge, he’s getting on
they agreed sagely, at the Club.
In the end they tore out his heart
and barbequed it with onions
and a little regret, one pleasant Sunday morning
at the Club.