The figure on the trophy <br />lifts its arms for as long <br />as its soft, shiny metal <br />will last. It doesn’t know <br />what it celebrates. Trophies <br />are good that way—entirely <br />disinterested. They’re <br />unambitious; manufactured. <br />They weren’t able to hear <br />the cheers. At landfills they <br />break apart gracefully.<br /><br />Hans Ostrom<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/first-place-2/
