February 24, Tiger and Lawrence
Tiger Woods was in a car wreck; Lawrence Ferlinghetti died.
Tiger’s golfing may be over; Ferlinghetti’s works abide.
Tiger Woods is still a young man; Lawrence was one hundred one.
Tiger may have many years left; Ferlinghetti’s race is run.
Woods will fade from television; we’ll still read the poet’s verse.
With age, athletes’ skills diminish; poets’ skills do not get worse.
Woods’ golf swing filled some with envy; poets make us think and feel.
Athletes win both fame and money: for some, an Achilles heel.
Tiger beat his competition; Lawrence, Beat, the poets’ way.
Tiger won’t stay on the golf course; poems do not fade away.
Tiger, prodigy, best ever, felled by young celebrity?
Lawrence handled fame and fortune with more equanimity.
As we say goodbye to Lawrence, think of fortune, think of fame.
Poets’ words make them immortal, more than mastery of a game.
Those not yet born may discover words to make their spirits soar.
But for athletes, once they’re buried, cheers die too, forevermore.