Untitled 3
The glimmer of the stadium lightsreflect off the metal of the shakos
which proudly bare their loyalties.
The night falls on the shoulders
of dark conquistadors in green and white.
With gold buttons polished and backs straight,
they stand at attention
awaiting their inspection.
Chins high, eyes cold and dark-
their faces like carved stone.
Their hands clutching their instruments like weapons-
agression lies in the crook of their thumb and forefingers,
a certain solemnity in their expressions.
This family of midnight strangers,
in practice of the night,
greet their future
beneath a blanket of stars.
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