the town has its beliefs, those myths
of fractured arms at ball games, of pie contests
licking cherries from lips made red by blood,
the smash mouth battles on fields of mud.
the warriors seem shaken, the aftermath
one big poison, hard to hide
defeat, sleep coming if at all
after morning paper’s mock surprises,
those hopes of winning crashed now in
headlines so bizarre, so unique at
breakfast tables, and men
with wide-eyes recall
worse defeats, worse late-night terror,
the home team losing respect, the town
reeling until next week.
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