Genocide of Pins
Beneath the bowling-alley
bar marquee
the rain tonight
hammers off
the concrete.
Inside, beer flops
bottle into glass.
Beyond the bar,
bright lights
reveal a Bowler’s day:
fluorescent shirts
red, yellow, green,
and everywhere
a roar so loud
one can barely hear
the genocide of pins
slain by balls
a lifetime now in transit.
Donal Mahoney
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