ODE TO LA JABULANI

The technology of exertion disposes
one to think that hand-stitching is pussy

when you can thermal bond the hexagons
and make balon almost like a waterproof
ion or synthetic canonball,

a mole of pure bouyancy
in three dimensions.

Balon, pelota, has always been
a souvenir thing from Deflection.

For instance, my father recounts
layering a sock with socks
if it had at it's heart
a stark, marble pit.

And the kids in Africa
use masking tape to conflate
their overlapping Drogba dreams
to worship Eto's elan.

Lack of technology propels
the indigent savants of the "beautiful
game" towards manicured salaries and television
spots to sell mouthwash and disposable
shavers to chavs, coolies, and shoguns.

Adidas claims this is the most accurate
and most round football to roll on the pitch
as if the pitch were a ping-pong verandah

or a table devoid of inconsistency.

But, the pitch is all elbows and kinks
and even the most Barishnikov of the strikers
will admit that they just propel and suggest

channel and resist the sense of celebration
innate in the rolling.