A striped field on the screen.
Late Sunday afternoon--
preaching your adored game.
The tackles, the tight end, the safety,
the touchdowns, the fumbles and field goals.
All your precious babble
into my ear--then gone.
Burly-beef-boys charging
are not in any way my motive.
Your urgent concern to inform of
the game I'll never know.
Terminology spat,
your message lost in clouds.
My eyes are attentively listening,
but only to your charming presence.