Monday 5 February 2018

We Know the Results (rough, new)

The Super Bowl is Over

and with it, speculation
as pros and amateurs alike
call in to collect their bets.

The Super Bowl is  Over

and we're all a little drunk and
mentioning our friends in Philly
and considering more cocaine
or maybe fighting the bartender.

I need to leave this shouting neighborhood.

The Super Bowl is Over

and there are so many new buildings
beckoning for retail, the suited men
look tired, these streets will not be clean.
the sports bars prepare for another
downturn and hope to live off
these profits at least until Saint Patrick’s day.

The Super Bowl is Over

and it is time to  sort my w2s.

The Super Bowl is Over

and my Dad’s best friend, laid to rest
at the Rainier Beach Mortuary in
a two hour ceremony one hour before
I work. My sister texting tears that
she can’t make it out.
My Mom’s pet dove, family pet for
thirteen years, shivering in it’s blanket
then still.

The Super Bowl is Over

and seriously fuck that one guy,
and his voting record, this can,
or has to, mean something. We
taste  his tears from TV screens.

The Super Bowl is Over

and there are buses I no longer take
pictures I’m wiping from my phone
a Cat I’ll never see again
and a line around the block
for a play I will not see.

The Super Bowl is Over

so no more guesswork. The why
it went the way it did are stories
that will change with tellers. There
will be another one next year
and after that, an occasion
for fundraisers and toy drives
and nachos and puppies
and million dollar commercials.

The Super Bowl is Over

which means there must be winners
but I am more concerned with losses now;
that corner space in the charming building
promised such potential
, sits empty.