Football Season

But the game includes killing

Boys in another country.

At the end of this beer,

I pay a tax, make sure

They’re dead. A man asks to change

The channel, unaware of his own safety.

Barflies look at him as if he’s spilled

The final pint of ale. Loneliness

Is a practice. Like medicine.

Like law, the law of the land

Live in twenty-four time zones.

The last man standing is

The first one alone. Which of us

Is too drunk to stagger

Home? Not me. I can drink

A few more, see the Patriots

Or the Cowboys or another

Very long war right

Here on this stool, watching

My money work for me, the heat

Up and me comfortable enough

To complain about it.