It’s Been 21 Years

It’s time for football on Super Bowl Sunday.
We’ve go our mittens, stiff drinks, and
hotdogs ready for a
Chicago Bear’s victory.

Like a salamander, I hide under rocks and logs waiting,
been waiting so long, for this moment like a newborn killing
time before it can legally consume alcohol.

Before the game we throw yellow snowballs
at each other. Especially, Lions and Packer fans.

We smoke grass and slam beers from
Milwaukee and St. Louis. A girl, some
painter, brings a sixer form Holland.

In the end, the Monster’s of the Midway shall
defeat the Colts of Indy by nine.
It’ll be Goulden.

We’ll all do our own kind of shuffle.