It's a 20-year-old photograph.
I am returning from the net.
In blue shorts, my head bent,
Racquet hanging limply,
I most have lost the point.
Except I know better.
Such vanity, attempting humility,
Seeking no applause,
I will graciously accept victory.
I am baaad!
Yet, there is a joker loose on the court.
When I feel superior I need
Merely turn my desk chair and look at the photo.
All my imagined stagecraft
Undone, as I look at my self-abasing feet.
True, my steps seem appropriately downtrodden.
If only I had worm matching socks.
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