ON ACRONYMS (G.O.A.T.) AND ACCOLADES (GREATNESS)

by Jen Schneider

I’ve always believed in the power (mostly potential) of greatness. Up and down streets of small-town USA. It’s the American way. From the East to the West. Up and down coasts. Across the boulevard. Behind boarded storefronts. Above tent cities and soaring skyscrapers. Gold rushes (and crushes) as believable as spinning compass dials. Proof in palms. Sweat both a track and a sweet tactic. Electricity both pushes and pulls. Magnetic magnanimity. All senses engaged. Eyes sparkle. All moves traced. Energy (& greatness) on display. 

Tonight, I witnessed it. The G.O.A.T. First-hand. On live TV (with an intermittent signal). From the irregularly regular comfort of a green corduroy couch. All limbs locked. All cushions plucked. Some patched. Others poked. Even the puppy ceased chewing (both cushions and bones) to watch (perhaps chase). Greatness a moving target. And a mobilizer. Time may tick (and trick) but greatness warms then lingers. In layers (six U.S. Open titles and tiers) and longing. Of myths and mothers. Of champions and messages that extend championship miles. Of catsuits and ankle-grazing boots. In smiles and original styles. Hi-tops and lo-cuts. Sequins and Lycra trims. Authentic and relentless. Shine and sheer. All dress coded. All rackets loaded. 

All the world’s a stage. Bounded of boundaries erased in thin air. Fans in stands. Teams behind the scenes. Youngsters with big dreams. Bottoms boosted by stacks of paper reams. Elders with small screens and oversized spectacles. Spectators (both in and of person) cup (and capture) promise in the palms of their hands and the sweetness of their gasps. Puffs of breath signal. Proof of behavior beyond all reasonable dreams. From hard courts to grass lots. From clay corners to concrete towers. From humble beginnings of seeds and sprouts. We’re only as strong as our supports. Even the always ready-for-sleep canine got caught up in the game. Foundations fuel fire. Balls of soft yellow fuzz inspire both chases and champions. Also companions. 

As the biggest names in sports flooded the airwaves, my husband pulled his racket from the attic. I considered my own tutu (long boxed). Grabbed Nikes, shorts, and night-lit keys. I laced, then tied my rubber-soled sneakers. His were a tad too tight (along with the shorts). Mine a tad too bright (neon green no longer felt right). Sparkle and lace always a fan. It was late but we made it a date. Leash on the dogs. Feet on pavement. Rackets in hand. We’ve never been dressed of accolades. Kool-Aids our beverage of choice. Tonight, we ran then hit then hollered. Rates (accuracy and time) no longer mattered. 

Greatness is gentle. A guide with nothing to hide. We were happy to be (beside and then on the court). There was no need to ace. No need to race. Greatness not only inspires it never tires. Age just as much as adage as a fuel for new stages. 

It’ll be a while, I think. To challenge the greatness, we saw on display. No desire to conform. Spectacular in a self-chosen uniform. Stats may stock and stack. Always at the ready. Some to be stored and others to react. Commentators eager to even all scores. Time is tricky. It passes in a blink. It’s the (even when fleeting and even when tried) American way. Tonight, I witnessed greatness. Under open air. Dances, daring, and destiny on magnificent display. 

Thank you, Serena. Your impact (and all you’ve made seen) will extend long and far beyond your effect. What I’ll remember most from my watch (and your reign) is your smile and your irrepressible passion for always, without fail, going the extra mile. Not to mention your incredible sense of fashion. You may not know our names, but your game inspires dreams beyond the threats of time and traditional means. Of G.O.A.T.s and accolades. Time and again—Greatness on display. 

Jen Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. Recent works include A Collection of Recollections, Invisible Ink, On Habits & Habitats, and Blindfolds, Bruises, and Breakups.

EQUAL WORK / EQUAL PAY

by Tricia Knoll

They won the applause. And the little trophy.
And the Nike swooshes on their uniforms.
They took it hot and humid, running.
Heart and soul. Heads and heels.
We waved our flags.
We painted our faces.
They won the games:
one after another won.
New York throws a ticker tape
down the Canyon of Heroes
and confetti rains down
on their ponytails and bobs.
(Who’d want to go
to the White House?)

Now the big question
is not skill, commitment,
drive, energy, or strength:
will they get equal pay?
The golden question.

Tricia Knoll has held feminist ideals aloft for many decades, rejoices in the strength and athletic prowess of all the womens' teams who competed in the World Cup, and celebrates the success of the U. S. Women's Team and their friendships.

BEHIND THE MILLION DOLLAR AD

by Devon Balwit

Believe in something even if it means sacrificing

everything. We read the words, and that part of us

suckled on tales of heroes rallies as behind a pennant

on the battlefield or before splintering city gates

                                                            —and yet

we are reading ad copy, a sly way to light a match

beneath our purchasing power. Fight the machine,

we’re prompted by the machine itself, so vast

as to be almost invisible.

                                                            —a galaxy

of nodes. This time, proceeds go to charity,

yet still we wouldn’t trade places with a worker

in this corporation’s factories, live off their wage,

raise children by their dumps. How deep does good go?

                                                            —How deep

is deep enough? Better than nothing,

some insist. With eyes keen enough to see

such a fraction, we must trace the whole web,

alert to its snag, the hypnotic vibration as the spider

                                                            —approaches

Devon Balwit has six chapbooks and three collections out in the world. Her individual poems can be found here or are forthcoming in journals such as The Cincinnati Review, apt, Posit, Cultural Weekly, Triggerfish, Fifth Wednesday, The Free State Review, Rattle, Poets Reading the News, etc.

CARGO SHIP SPILLS

by Joan Mazza

(CNN February 22, 2014) -- On any day, between 5 million and 6 million containers are on the high seas, carrying everything from potato chips to refrigerators. But not all of them make it to their destination, as the crew of the Svendborg Maersk have just found out. Their Danish-flagged ship was in the Bay of Biscay last week as hurricane-force winds battered the Atlantic coast of Europe. Amid waves of 30 feet and winds of 60 knots, the Svendborg began losing containers off northern France. After the ship arrived in the Spanish port of Malaga this week, Maersk discovered that about 520 containers were unaccounted for. Stacks of others had collapsed. It's the biggest recorded loss of containers overboard in a single incident.

Image source: Shipspotting

Containers stacked, packed into ships overloaded
by unknown amounts until they buckle and bend,
tip their load into water. Each one the size
of a semi truck trailer, fully loaded, in stormy seas,
they dump flyswatters with sports teams’ logos,
thousands of Lego pieces.

The Hansa Carrier lost 80,000 unlaced Nike sneakers,
making it The Great Shoe Spill of 1990. Two more
containers of Nike Cross Trainers went overboard
in ‘99, offering a second chance at free shoes.
They race on ocean currents to land on shores
around the world, a colorful, startling pollution.

Traveling from China to the US in 1992,
28,000 rubber ducks and other bath toys
were dumped in the Atlantic by a rogue wave,
making them collectibles when found, turning
the waters into a bathtub for giants.

In Florida, a container of Doritos was discovered
and broken into, chips dry and mostly undamaged,
delighting beachcombers and gulls. Like trucks
spilling money on the highway, scavengers descend
for a free meal, toys, or mystery object: a huge
standing Lego Man, commanding Florida dunes.

The rest sinks deep or disperses like oil, results
to be seen later. Much later. Artificial reef or slowly
diffusing chemicals, leached into our oceans,
packing pellets in the guts of the fish we eat?


Joan Mazza has worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, seminar leader, and has been a Pushcart Prize nominee. Author of six books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam), her poetry has appeared in Rattle, Whitefish Review, Off the Coast, Kestrel, Slipstream, American Journal of Nursing, The MacGuffin, Mezzo Cammin, Buddhist Poetry Review, and The Nation. She ran away from the hurricanes of South Florida to be surprised by the earthquakes and tornadoes of rural central Virginia, where she writes poetry and does fabric and paper art.