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Alan Dugan - On Hurricane Jackson
Work rating: Low

Now his nose’s bridge is broken, one eye 
will not focus and the other is a stray; 
trainers whisper in his mouth while one ear 
listens to itself, clenched like a fist; 
generally shadowboxing in a smoky room, 
his mind hides like the aching boys 
who lost a contest in the Panhellenic games 
and had to take the back roads home, 
but someone else, his perfect youth, 
laureled in newsprint and dollar bills, 
triumphs forever on the great white way 
to the statistical Sparta of the champs.
Source
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