Ringside Theatre of Choice
by Odin Roark

A postage stamp battlefield this;
Life’s enigmatic roped-in ring
Where tanning bed fantasy
Adorned by emblematic masks
And skimpy costumes
Strut about a self-aggrandized world
Where Mr. Everything wrestles Count Nothing,
Giving all who wish
Momentary mastering illusion
Over their own caged anger.

Such is the age of vicarious role-playing.

Frustration’s ringside caldron of emotions
Where popcorn flung,
Chairs thrown,
Beer cups hurled,
Stir together with blood and sweat
For an ingestion of delusion,
Owing to admission paid,
Entertainment expected.

Gastric juices party
As aftertastes of winner-hubris / loser-remorse,
The echoing three slaps to the mat,
Call up the referee’s bony-hand declaration of fini.

Fear’s reflection sets in
Anticipating another chance,
Another bout,
Expecting performance failure
Will be the opponent staggering to the black curtains,
Passing beneath the exit sign,
And awaiting his or her insistent ringside theatre of choice
To again reopen.