The Winner

A man on a corner, letting go.

The winner was standing on the corner with the February sun warming his face.

Plagued by a plethora of unwarranted victories.

And some disastrous defeats.

He took refuge only in surrendering to the divine warmth that cradled his aging face.

What more could he do than surrender? His victories only propped up his ego temporarily. His defeats washed them away.

There beneath the waning winter sun.

His only hope was to release his pride into the curbside snow.

And let it melt there with the rest of life’s debris.

A poem by Pemba Umoja