We always sneer at the losers of stories,
The ones who show up with their hair frazzled,
Dragging half of the things
That are supposed to be on their persons:
Their belt, their socks,
Stepping into their shoes as they spring from the car,
Late for an appointment.
The one’s whose hair is never right.
The ones who we know aren’t bad, just pathetic,
So we write them off.
The ones we really respect,
They’re the ones that have it all together,
They’re the smart ones.
The ones catching criminals,
The ones staying cool in the midst of battle,
The ones who come out of an impossible situation,
But really, who is the hero?
The loser, who mess up after mess up,
Bungle after Bungle,
Loss after loss,
Comes up living, loving,
Beaten but not broken,
Bedraggled but not destroyed.
Or the cool, calm, collected ones,
Who because of their inborn brain,
Which they did nothing more to receive than anyone else,
They come out with a clean tie and straight pleats in their pants.