Empty as David’s seat, a befouled mouth shrieks
at high Sturgeon Moon, gasping for air–what
little can be had–within an offensive red sea,
which swirls malevolently throughout multitudes
of calloused feet, taunting us with decades of
Wrenched from ancient jaws with unremitting
brutality, sovereignty–smoother than pink root
and whiter than snow–gallops away from smoldering
earth around thick, sinuous necks.
Faithful soldiers, once unyielding in their loyalty, vanish
into a sylvan embrace, forever silent in their surrender.
Sticky mouths are free from care,
digesting frozen fries and beer
before they bellow like a bear
for the team that they hold dear.
Digesting frozen fries and beer
while blazing blue and vivid white
for the team that they hold dear
beneath a sun so bold and bright.
While blazing blue and vivid white
sweat slides down from nose to chin,
beneath a sun so bold and bright
hoping that their Yanks will win.
Sweat slides down from nose to chin,
before they bellow like a bear.
Hoping that their Yanks will win,
sticky mouths are free from care.