Bourbon Street, New Orleans,
the night before the Chicago Bears
won the 1986 Super Bowl, 46-10
By Patrick T. Reardon
.
George could not suppress
his animal glee, eyes
filled with the sun of the
Bears, his blinding trip to
the mountain top, as, wife,
I hung on best I could

.
— he knew and I knew —
.
while, a day early, he ate
the bread and wine of
triumph-to-be, knowing a
sure thing when he saw it
.
— he knew and I knew —
.
and I hung on best I
could as my blood poisoned
and body emptied into air,
and George was goofy with
this rainbow bubble of delight,
joy as pure as untrod snow,
wanting to build tents for this
flash of light, and babbled his
giddiness to the tall reporter
who looked at me and saw
.
— he knew and I knew —
.
the two months to go before
my transubstantiation, and I
hung onto George for dear life.
.
Patrick T. Reardon
9.1.22
This poem originally appeared at The Write Launch on 8.3.22.
1 Comment
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