I am the unsympathetic villain
a thirty year old boy
still dreaming
a tree
thrice felled
re-growing from a stump
in the graveyard
more stubborn than
a cross
I’m a frog yearning
for a fly thick swamp
an empty bus
with a flat
languishing
on some rutted front lawn
one of those underdogs that had a day
that’s passed,
long-shot odds and
his stubbornness
all he has
left