Super Bowl

Who won? I said.

The game’s tomorrow, he said.

And I became the snail I always was,

crossing the field in my helmet.

But I’d given it my all,

while the plane arced on its way

to a landing, when I overheard

the woman behind us say

I was gathering wildflowers to make a wreath

to lay on my mother’s grave when my son

fell off a mountain in Italy

and I felt such joy over the unknown

outcome of her words

I was not ashamed,

for I can feign interest

in the world, just as she

in that great green meadow

must have.