Ego Bowling

They’re all keeping scores
Past these red, rusty doors
Shadows casted from the neon light             
Fall on rubber ducks sitting so tight          
In the quarter-turn vending machine              
Their faded beady eyes have seen   
Everything from love bloom on the lanes     
To a time when the carpet had less stains

From old boots to shoes styled proper
All find their way into an old locker
Now on equal footing, but still they cling
To their egos—it’s a recurring thing
As they play, their primal patterns are seen
Motions, thoughts, and all in between
And with any small misstep or stutter
The ball easily lands down in the gutter

But watch the strikes and you’ll see
Someone consistent, calm as can be
Moving with both patience and flow
But even the winner, it's important to know
All along, there was never any rival
Doesn’t matter if you made it to the final.