Synthesis

The athletes speak some
Slavic language I can’t quite
chart, the music loud,
as a woman with a bag
of turquoise leather raises
a hand to adjust
her already perfect hair,
and a bored teenager toys
with his sunglasses,
and none of these things
that by chance enter my brain
matter, except that they do,
since through some weird alchemy
they will become this poem.

Copyright 2015
T. Allen Culpepper

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