The Trophies

Across the window of Frank's Trophy Shop
Stand bowlers and batters, golfers and skaters,
All manner of athletes posed in winning form
Like a team photo:

In front the small-fries – 
The best efforts and most improveds;

Behind them the better-than-average – 
The runners-up, the almosts, the wait-until-next-years;

And towering in back, the collosals – 
The most valuables, the champions, the gods on marble
Holding wreaths large enough for a dog to jump through.

But now, the shop closed and twilight clinging
To the window, they look dull and dusty and left behind,
As if they know what it means to be the unchosen,

The empty-handed, the ones who don't shine
Or see engraved in the brass plate
Their good names.