Ace would pair us off and watch us squirm
Just like reptilian stars from Tokyo.
I was little match for Robert’s firm
Resolve and sober stare – and much too slow
And weak to ever hope for little more
Than laying brokenhearted on the floor.
Young Robert’s victory would bring no smiles.
There would be no praise, no olive wreath
To crown his lowered head, no handshake while
He hurried with us just to stand beneath
The only friend he’d find at school that day.
Where were we when he blew himself away?
3/2/1984
Field of Vision 