Prizewinner

Their smiles are all teeth
as they accept the token from the mopheaded degenerate
crushed behind his register.
But it is with arms like umbilical cords
And wiggly weak bodies
That they nervously tote their prize
until they can drop a firm hand
on the shiny red shoulder of their
first skeeball.

all the way down the lacquered wood ramp the ball is handed
deliberately from parent to teacher
doctor to priest
to the waiting college professor
who shines up a glossy red coat
on the ball that has felt sweat
and dead skin and moisturizer. And
he drops it in, into the center circle.
One hundred points (100). Bullseye. Jackpot.
Lights blare and music rolls
like a skyburst, inevitable but shocking,
as the led display shows the same old score
in bright red block letters:
HAPPY GRADUATION