Football Season
But the game includes killing  
Boys in another country.  
At the end of this beer,  
I pay a tax, make sure  
They’re dead. A man asks to change  
The channel, unaware of his own safety.  
Barflies look at him as if he’s spilled  
The final pint of ale. Loneliness  
Is a practice. Like medicine.  
Like law, the law of the land  
Live in twenty-four time zones.  
The last man standing is 
The first one alone. Which of us  
Is too drunk to stagger  
Home? Not me. I can drink  
A few more, see the Patriots  
Or the Cowboys or another  
Very long war right  
Here on this stool, watching  
My money work for me, the heat  
Up and me comfortable enough  
To complain about it.  
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