It’s a Did you watch the game? day, weather
calm and rippled light
on the nearby mountain. Not a word
about touchdowns, just eight
thousand dollar tickets and culture in decline.
Didn’t watch the halftime show,
made some tea,
nothing’s like it was when country music told a story.
And a cloud drifts
across a slide-guitar sky, eighty-eight
years old looking forward
to warmer days sitting out beside
the artificial grass. Different sports,
different currencies,
always politics,
though the afternoon sun shines down
with a winning glow. Lovebirds chattering
in flight sweep by, and memories fly
after them: Ferlin Husky, Faron Young,
cash registers ringing in waltz time.
Swaybacked shadows
drift across the slopes,
nineteen sixty in the air, life waiting
to be lived and the world
at twenty-two was cheap at any price.
