the player
|
prancing into the
room like he's
practicing for the
wannabe prize
head high eyes
low his insecurities
stuffed in pants
pockets full of afraid
he looks at no one
hoping to be noticed
as the cool dude his
dreams promised
|
Poem by Janet Cannon
|
Previously published in
Sin Fronteras / Writers without Borders
(c/o Dona Ana Community College, Las Cruces, NM)
|
|
