there was an uprising,
this we knew,
against their designs of gold:
it was sponsored by the salmon queen,
who pranced in a gown of darkness.
postage was stopped
by horses in feathered disguise:
there were protests, of course,
against the commemoratives
that worshiped equine greatness.
who could have known
that flies would join the mist
with their disconcerting buzzing?
so we marched,
as only losers could,
into a stadium
where the score was predetermined.
from section 3, seats 109ish
we sniggered at the spectacle.