G20 QB
August 13, 2010, by Homme De Sept-Iles
that cop stands like a quarterback
but not like the quarterback he thinks he is,
thumbs in belt-rings, shoulders square, feet wide apart
but(t) too wide
head rests on neck like a flesh stove
wait, no neck
and not a stove, just square, pale dough
eyes too bright – blue and bird, squint and stretch, his eyebrows pull,
accessories too shiny puuull, pooool
oh it’s hard work
the biggest boss black boots he could find
thick, two, no, four-inch heels
square and strapping
or so he thinks
there is no lump, no codpiece, just flat Alberta nylon
his length is in his child-math vector sentence:
one plus one plus, uh, one, plus two and, um, one
plus, uh
shut up, it equals I am your leader
but like a Rubble cube Barney
he is a follower only
a follower of nattering pigs
of monkey-snuffle rules
of gun-bill muzzles
a scout might say:
too short to see over a car
too slow to escape the first rush
lacks the football IQ to read the safety’s first two steps
too much chicken
too much (too) little
squat, prone to cartilage tear
coach’s son flare
(he thinks flair)
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