“Youth poet laureate Amanda Gorman to recite poem before Super Bowl LV” – CNN, January 27
When Sunday comes we ask ourselves
Where can we find the football among these infinite channels?
Will we eat of wings (chicken) festooned in our flannels?
Now we’ve braved the telly of the beast.
We’ve learned that one team’s called The Chiefs.
Another be called The Buccaneers.
We hear there’ll be beers. Cheers.
And so we will gaze this Sunday upon the Bowl that is Super
And calculate downs and yardage earned in athletic pursuit.
Perhaps someone else do it; math’s not our strong suit.
We would much rather speak of a down that is touched
Like the lily caressed by the hushed
Morning dew that falls on the lea.
Or in this case, AstroTurf, apparently.
See the men now stride forth on that parallelogram of sport
And line up in formation, two sides, fighting ranks,
Like a military conflict, but with jocks, not tanks.
O pigskin connoisseurs! Proudly pumped up in pads!
Girding your gridirons, protecting your gonads!
Go forth! Foot the ball! Earn your millions! Make bones crunch!
Whereas I, like most poets, can ill afford lunch.
On quarterback! Kicker! On defendy guys, smooshers!
Relent not in your quest for football-ian supremacy!
Score extra point thingies. Show the foe zero clemency.
Even refs throw their hankies in unbridled elation!
Oh, I see, that’s a foul; now they give explanations.
“Penalty declined.” You can do that in pro sports?
I’m sorry, remind me, which team are we rooting for?
But while the Super Bowl can be periodically delayed,
It can never be defeated. The concept, not this game, I mean;
Someone has to win, either the red guys or the other team.
But the essence of Super Bowl? It prevails beyond Sunday,
This peak day of mega-sized, televised “running plays,”
A term that I picked up while Googling “football”
As I prepped for this poem and stress-sipped hard alcohol.
It’s to poetry we pass the intercepted sack
With an offside of awe for this Hail Mary-est of Bowls.
In a blitzing of words this fumbling spectacle we robe.
Lo, brawn and sweet lyric here meet at this junction;
We hope we don’t suffer a word-robe malfunction.
For millions of fans tune their ear to this ode;
Though more likely dash quickly to the commode.
But there may be some who will drink in such verse
Then after sit quietly without pestering their fiancés
And wonder what time is the part with Beyoncé.
We know that light verse at the Bowl’s controversial
When what the fans crave are the pricey commercials.
But when Sunday comes, one small poem will feel slight,
For the game goes on long,
Though there is always Bud Lite.
If only we’re brave enough to buy it.
If only we’re desperate enough to drink it.
“Like the lily caressed by the hushed…” Dying here, so funny!
That’s probably my favourite part.
Very well done!
Most excellent! It’s mete & right to see a poem rhyming ode and commode for a Super Bowl. Maybe that should be “meat,” dunno, love the caressed lilies, telly of the beast & unbridled hankies, too. If there was enjambment it could be jelly of the beast. Love this Bud Lite Verse
Thanks. This was tougher to write than I thought it would be. Poetry is hard, even intentionally bad poetry.
I give thanks for the word enjambment. It’s entombed me, ensconced. Like the not-itchy wool kind, about the neck.
It is a good word, isn’t it. I appreciate anything to do with jam, I’m a huge fan of toast. Or that Patti LaBelle song, Lady Marmelade
I’m more of a roulade guy.
Makes me think of ham: jambon.
Makes me think of old school rap: jam on it jam on it jam onee-on-on-e-on it
Is this an audition?
Did I get the part?
Sorry. The position has been filled. We’ll keep your poem on file in case something comes up.
Happy to see a piece with no breaks! Ha! Fun fun fun.
Lo, brawn and sweet lyric here meet at this junction
23 more to go to 10K followers and then you’ll be rolling in the dough my friend, smoking see-gars!
Am I an influencer yet?
Under the influenced, I am!
This is better than last years commercials put together. Great and yet terrible verse set to make me laugh for hours. You my friend understand that the world needs laughter
May the Farce be with you
Doing my very small bit.
And doing it well
you two write in such the same style, and i’m often getting your work and amanda’s work mixed up
And yet she gets all the good gigs.
(In truth, she sounds like an amazing kid.)
She does- and there is hope for you