Last night, The New England Patriots,
10 and 0 as of yesterday morning,
Tight end Gronkowski
carted off the field with a destroyed knee.
All this tragedy perped by Denver Broncos, minus
The aging QB out with a twisted neck and sprained back,
watching that 2nd string kid, Osterhause, or something,
play well enough to win it.
The world didn’t end.
Dark horror from an errant meteor did not
destroy civilization as we know it
(though many in this Patriot Nation
cried themselves to sleep),
But, all in all, we’re still here
and babies born in Bangor nine months from
this day that shall live in infamy
will ask, twenty years hence,
“Mom, who was Tom Brady?”
or, perish the thought,
“Dad, was football really as brutal as my
history teacher says it was?”
And he, probably, will
have to say,