by
There is a proper place in Hell
Warm and pungent
Like a dragon's mouth
A place
For the creator of
Dodge Ball
The outcasts like us
The ones with stringy hair
And twisted legs
Bruised from the balls of rubber
Thrown and rammed into us by the beautiful ones
With perfect cherub faces
Until their own faces are smashed and
Deformed for that hour
We see him sometimes
Underneath the glass floors
Who cannot help but smile faintly
As he stands in the line
Swollen eyes
Downward mouth
Waiting to be hit again
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