Champion

Who loves Mexico?
He does! says so right
on his double X L teeshirt verde
and I can only see a couple inches of
copper skin wrists
and soft knuckled fists
as he huffs and puffs and
blows his silver medal breath down.

Asphalt black lipstick streaks
every other time his floppy kicks kiss the pavement,
and later some stove sweat mama’s gonna
warn him that’s his only pair.

I’m gonna win! he yells,
a shag of a missing haircut bouncing in
and out of his endless knot eyes,
and he grins like a champion
as every skinny stick of him runs down Julep
alone.