Tuesday, December 28, 2010

The Blitz






It wasn't just the last game of
The season
It was the last game of my career
And what a season it had been
Blowouts
One after another

And here i was
Down 60 to 3
As she poured it on
once more

It was raining
Last play of the game
No chance
Nothin left to play for
as pride had caught the bus
to omaha, long ago

I was to play a zone
Stop the run
Maybe pick off a screen
Salvage my dignity

She shoulda took a knee
Been classy
Merciful
But i looked at the formation
at her eyes,
As she barked out the numbers
She was goin for it
Wanted more

Me?
I wanted her
Down
Sacked
One last tiny victory

The ball was snapped
She dropped back
I charged through the line
But she was good
And had seen my eyes as well

She scrambled right
I twisted left
rolled off a block
Gave it all i had

and I almost reached her
I think

Or maybe
She just wanted me
To think so
It is, after all
Just a game

She let it fly
As i was down at her feet
I couldn't see
If it was a floater
Or a bullet

Didn't matter as
He was open
Cuz, like i said
I was at her feet
Goin for the whole enchilada

Touchdown!
He spiked it
Of course
And she jumped in his arms
67-3

Like i said
Didn't really matter anyhow
The game
Had long since been over

oh!
but to get her on the turf
just one last time
would have been
glory enough

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Pan

well, he did it again
the sneaky bastard

i blew my top
in the roarin forties
sliced her north on a jib
skittered the shoals
slid her into second base
safe!
no, out
whaddya mean out?
he never touched me!
but down she went
taking my argument
with her

and once again
here, on a battered rock
at the bottom of nowhere
i smelled him
afor i seen her

oh, pissed was I
and I rattled the heavens
with my curses
kicked sand
at the witches wind
and stumped my ass
in what the fuck now

and then, soft and low
how the pipes
stirred the misty wash
upon this crusty jewel
of heartless scars

i clenched my ears
in hydraulic denial
but ears with him
ain't really the problem

i turned my narrow eyes
to his furtive control
all crookedy teeth
skid marks and
peach-rotten balls
and wept

as I had done
in Tanzania
off Scotland's cliffs
in the vineyards of Italy
and the snow pack
of the Yukon

He'd found me once more
or perhaps
never left me
but oh!
how his pipes do play