by on October 5, 2022 :: 0 comments

You were never the winner nor the runner up, you were bronze.
You were the finalist child pianist prodigy (regional)
You were the County champion who gave it all up
You were the nearly took a Master’s degree
You were the face on the inside, not the cover of the NME
You were the one that could have had a doctorate
You were your mother’s only son except you weren’t
You were the flu that was only a cold
You were bronze.

You were gorgeous until they knew you better and laughed at you
You were charming until you were unmasked inevitably as a bore
You took out patents for the things we never even knew we needed
You followed the complicated recipe, but it never ever did taste good
You were the lover extreme you thought, but you were just needy
Your band was the romo-ist of the romos on the day that music changed
You were bronze.

You were yesterday’s man, the also-ran, the flash in the pan, the house built on sand
You were numbers one to eight on a ten-point plan
You were the poemless poet, the easily led, the gutless hero, the Procrastinator General.
You were not the Bradley Wiggins nor the pinnacle of perfection
And your bike ride revolutions will not be televised
You did like green eggs and ham and were not Sam I am
You were not a Jeepster for my love
Nor were you any type of victim when you dumped me
It was not some enchanted evening nor a tragic B-side tale from the beloved Smiths.
You were not ol’ blue eyes, Johnny Thunders, Albert Einstein, nor Garbo.
You were not writ large upon the firmament of fame.
You were bronze.

– Karen Withecomb

editors note:

Even though you place, you’ll leave no trace. – mh clay

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