I was wrong.
I think I was the only one I know
Who rooted for New England. I confess
I didn’t watch Madonna, the transgressive
Finger flip, the ads, or any blow
That Tom or Eli gave the other, save
The very last, when Welker dropped a pass
That came in very high. And Tom, alas,
Retreated to the lockers, very grave,
While Eli stood elated, yet again.
I’m very glad my chosen work, indeed,
Is writing poems that no one else will read
Instead of facing many angry men
Who’d hoped and bet upon far better ends.
(I should have bet New York, like all my friends.)
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