lrg-204-cheerleader.09.10.06_525.JPG (JPEG Image, 500×333 pixels)

In the game, I see no point.
It feeds no babies
Liberates no captives
Brings no healing to the afflicted.
But it captures many miles of newsprint
And bounces from shiny sputniks
Modern bread and circus
True opium of masses.

So spare a thought for the cheerleaders
Who bring gravitas to gravy
Build stone walls from sand
With a flash of skirt they sell a plastic jewel
And use their sex for empty passion
The flash of capped teeth
And the firm flush of youth
Exultant futility.

Perhaps I am too harsh.
Man cannot live in mind alone
We can also value the spectacle-
Titanic clash of scientifically enhanced muscle
So wave those pom-poms
Bring it on.

Tags: poetry, Olympics