Awaiting the Snow - Poem: Superbowl Fifty

Wanted to write a poem about yesterday's Superbowl and finally did. It'll appear at blog's end.

Missed the halftime show, so I just watched it here.

My favorite act is Coldplay.

  They've been around a long time. 

Undoubtedly you're wondering how I spent the day.

  Saw my endocronologist Laura Fitzpatrick. As you can see, she ate the "Eat Me" pill from Alice and shrank.

She's actually quite tall. I got a good report altho my A1C was terrible! I asked how her son likes the snow. He loves it, she said, and they bought him a small shovel so he can help out.

When I walked into the waiting room it was full. You gotta wonder why all those people are there.

Should they wear signs on front that say "Insulin Dependent Diabetes?"

Or "Thyroid Problems?  Pituitary Problems?"

Dr Fitz told me that 40 percent of the patients have diabetes.

Your risk of having a heart attack is four times that of normal if you've got diabetes. She told me she has two patients with uncontrolled diabetes, they're about my age, and the gent just had a heart attack.

   Wonder what it feels like. My dead friend Bill Cardinale knew.

Today I was imagining getting therapy. What would I talk about? I thought a moment and thought of dealing with the death of a friend of mine. Dunno know why it still bothers me. Maybe I should write a poem about it.

I needed gas and the Giant gas station wasn't terribly crowded when I went over. Only got 20 cents off.



Then I drove over to the Giant Supermarket for my last minute snow run. Oh, the things I bought!

  From their hot bar.

Couldn't find my fave tea

So I went over to the Coffee Bar and Adryn said, It's only sold here. It was my tea of choice when I wrote my poem.

She and Kathy had just cleaned the floor after spilling the chocolate pudding.

Had I known, I said, I would've licked it off the floor.

I bought some for the very first time, hoping it would be terrible, so I could throw it away.



What dyou think?

Good or terrible?

Before Scott left for the train I interviewed him about the Superbowl for my poem.

I'd eaten at Mom's house for dinner. Brought the two of us a huge salad. Ellen wasn't home or I would've shared it with her.

We had a nice chat but I was anxious to get home bc of the snow.

The streets are nicely brined. While at Mom's, I watched Action News, something I never do since my TV has no reception.

I have to yell when I talk to her as she's hard of hearing.

Ellen made me some strong coffee, a variety of Peet's with a forgettable name and forgettable flavor.

I'd napped earlier at home, choosing Fresh Air to lull me to sleep.

 


Read about Peyton Manning on Wiki.

His dad, Eli Manning, was also a quarterback but played on lousy teams so he never won a Superbowl. He was on the New Orleans Saints, which was derisively known as The Aints, Scott told me.

I'd wrin another poem about Manning two years ago which won a prize from the Montco Community County College. My new poem had to be completely different bc artists do not repeat themselves. 

The below poem is loosely based on Scott's dad.

SUPERBOWL FIFTY

Father and son
duked it out
in the Carousel
condominium

The ole man put a twenty on
the glass table next to
the buffalo wings
Broncos! he called
in a voice that
once rang with
Oyez oyez in a
Philadelphia court room

What are you,
frigging nuts, Pop,
and lay two twenties in
another pile
"Panthers!" from
the southlands
of the country
why do you think
Cam's jersey
reads Number One?

Yeah, yeah, said the
old man, Heisman Trophy
and all thatjazz

Then why?

I'll tell you why.
Manning's an old man
39, a Man 'o War ready
for green pastures
His will to win
surpasses all
understanding.

It's why I married
your mother, right, Hon,
he shouted into the
kitchen where she was
heating up the eggplant
cassarole.

The doorbell rang
bringing in a cold draft
and a married couple
dressed for the Arctic

Did it start yet, she asked
You didn't miss much, said
the ole man, that Gaga woman
singing Oh, Say Can You See,
nice hips, what I've give to
have a..... never mind

She put the pretzels and
cashews on the table with
a bang, settled down and
watched the game.

Her hubby slept. "Wake
me in the last quarter,"
he said, plunking down
a twenty for the Panthers.

All was white at the end
White for the Bronco's
uniforms, for Manning's
Pope-like visage
daylight streaming
from the Santa Clara
sky, and the old
warrior thanked
the "Man Upstairs"
for his final
victory.