We’re going into overtime. League heavyweights Borussia Dortmund are level with second division FC Union Berlin. Managers reconsider strategies for chess ballgame with tired legs and cramps brought on by straining under the pressure of victory, the toys of spectatorship sacrificed by average joe kicking about with son in the backyard bonding time for dinner bell sounds off and everyone runs to the plates of organic healthy non processed good mama cookin’. The TV goes on and the game starts again shake the hands of the enemy and make some jokes before the elbow goes to the head and evokes concussion protocol. Now there’s a goal and it’s beautiful and crushing for a stadium of friends and good-hearted anathemas. Strangers hi-5 and hug and spill German beer on each other but that’s all part of reveling. Rebel mama wins tonight, that cutie with good lookin’ words bringing out the best in me bringing out a barrage of winky faces. We’re going to overtime get this game over please.
ryan meyer art rapid prose poem 1