Aug 212011
 
He thought at first he was Mark Spitz,
Slickly triumphant in Speedos,
Because the mirror kept its own counsel
Between more amenable poses.

Then he thought he was the Mutant X,
Of a DNA not quite fixed,--
Because his brother used furious crayons
In the TV's square glare.

And last, he thought his death might be 
A captain's statue, heroic, unruined,
Because the sun was shining blandly
All that day.


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