ODE TO PRINCE MILITO

A name like the Prince in Milan is worrisome
to me because even the Stazione de Milano seems
equipped for lieges, emirs, and potentates.

A prince in Milan seems destined to be the prince
of an eon, but Milito has been working the middle
for so long that the designation might just be,
in this case, not only earned, but satisfied, sated.

Some may see you, I am sure, as rapid assault clusters--
spatter that strafes doltish defensemen into sentinels.
Others may see you as opportunist rabble, a bum verdict
in Kerosene City, the powderkeg of the goal box,
closed-circuit Molotov.

A name like Milito in Genoa is much more serendipitous
than sylvester, because Genoa is a futbol club anchored
to a port. Actually, it's quite likely Diego's Italian ancestors
sailed to Argentina from Genoa. So, what kind of Sudaca
pound cake is this kid dropping to have reverted the laws
of Immigration? Emigre verso? The Count of Conflation?
How can almost all Argentine strikers have nazo tan
pero tan filoso? Could it be that, all the outrageous
Argentine strikers hustle outside the AFA mafia jardin?

If we shall concede the "new" Diego a province of repute,
we must concede him the Province of the Counterattack
for he bounds oryx-like from the halfway line, he seems to be
the most gifted simultaneous bipedal conveyance mechanism
since the malevolent cyborg in Terminator: Judgement Day. As satrap of the Province of Counterattack,
Milito gallops headlong into a gnatcloud of Roma defenders or
a bulwark of Bayern Visigoths and still manages to violate
the unbonded pockets of the holy rotten goalie box.