National Poetry Month, Day 8

We all noticed it.

The champ was unusually naive
about so many things at first

that it took a while
for anyone to notice

that subtle shift of expressions
as his face collected the weight

of things he’s still surprised
life gave him the chance to see.

A couple of us tried to pinpoint it,
that last grain to tip the scales.

One claimed to have seen it,
that it was late spring five, maybe six

years ago tops, that they were
walking home, more or less alone,

and he just stopped for a second.
The guy said he’d kept silent too,

trying to figure out what was wrong
but eventually the champ sighed, said

“We took it too far tonight, didn’t we?”
Then he laughed, kind of exaggerated,

got the other guy to join in,
and eventually they kept walking.

“Thing is,” the guy said, “Nothing
special really happened that night.”

So now I think that we’ll never
realize it in the moment, that

last grain, because it’s really not
like the weight wasn’t building.

It’s just that one day you get tired
and just let the weight drop,

and I guess that’s not so bad.

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