Late fruit of tired loins born in a good year
And thenceforth anointed with high hopes
An optimism not shared by fate perhaps
And later, nor by the fore-mentioned ‘fruit’.
Buoyed by the ease of easy achievement
A second place seemed too cruel
Unexpected of one held with ‘expectation’
Mediocrity became the burden he bore
Sometimes resisted. Dissipation offered
Dubious delight, cynicism comfort
And reflection yielded
That life had been a deck of dominoes
Mistakes lined up against the next
Crashing to every harsh touch;
In the trial box, he pleaded guilty
Witness to his own conviction.
