Televised Football noise in the background
The ache in my face
Words like abyss and beckon
Blank stares in any pointed direction
People who take photos insisting upon smiles
Today I flow with the things I abhor by ignoring their existence
But the background football noise is a ladder up my spine
Which tiny yet burly men are climbing up bone by bone
A roar of spectators urges them on, testosterone dripping
From their multicolored knee pads that dig into my
Flesh rung after rung after rung….
Personal foul called on number 33
Crowd roars in delight as the tres double digit
Falls from the spine ladder and Freddy
Mercury miraculously continues to sing
“We Will Rock You” and I attempt, poorly
To flow with a poem.
Is it working?