Poetry Mirror Sore Loser
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Sore Loser
He threw the cards up in the air. They hit everyone around him but he did not care.
When time ran out
he kicked over the sand castles.
Anyone who tried to reason with him he hassled.
Anger and temper tantrums are all part of his conduct.
Don’t you dare interrupt
because he will become quite abrupt.
The colors of sportsman’s conduct could never work in him like a
fuser.
Beware; one and all, he is a sore loser.
Poetry in the Mirror Copyright © 2011 James Lynch Jr.
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