No Bets

Wouldn’t rate their strategy a fête when it narrowed
into an illusion, even the leave-taking hurrahs were
delivered with faked élan – there was room enough
to see no future visions standing clear of thronging
sycophants & their idols; it was atmosphere devoid
of naturalness – a structured panoply that said, hey
look at me, with gauche and greedy artlessness, no
need to crudely guess of who what and where

Or what could have been said were they capable of
looking at themselves without rose-coloured glasses
filled with sponsors wine: but there will be no bets -
at least they’ve come clean there, so far anyway or
are we even yet being hoodwinked: we’ve furthered
ourselves from nothing much called their integrity 

© 27 May 2013, I. D. Carswell

At The Races