Champion Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

I think you're always
looking for a fight.
You spring dive into isolation.
While we dodge your dribbled venom,
you pitch bile,
kick kindness,
bench press hate,
lob gall, punt spite.
Your figure eights of slander
are a crime.
Your marathons of grudges
all seem crude.
You sweat contempt.
You practice being rude.
And doesn't it take energy,
waste time?
Suppose you just relax.
Let people be.
No points. No score.
Forget resentments past.
If you want friends,
play fair,
your goals recast,
And be a sport.
Defenseless you'll feel free.
Hear this:
if not for us,
for your own sake,
Go hit the showers.
Give us all a break.