Her Autumn Journey
This summer with my husband? Dreamy months of endless bliss.
Romantic dinners, perfect sunsets
Always with a gentle kiss.
But seasons change – and so does he. Now it’s time to say goodbye.
To my sweet and charming gentleman
Who becomes an Autumn Guy.
Wrinkled jersey on his back, no longer fitted Ralph Lauren.
Both eyes on me just weeks ago
All free time now spent with men.
Those screams you hear? Pure agony. And then his shouts of glee.
Dictated by those linemen,
Whose bellies dance across TV.
That’s right, my friend, the games are back – yes, football has returned.
My summer man? A memory.
Our fall weekends all upturned.
These next 6 months? It’s pigskin time. Why do they call it that?
At least it’s minus one Tom Brady
Go Giselle, you’re no doormat!
This kicker looks so tiny. Oh, I hope he won’t get hurt.
My husband? Not as worried…
He’s eating pork rinds off his shirt.
Coffee table needing mercy. Under pounds of greasy food.
An avalanche of wrappers,
I’ve never been less in the mood.
If I see another chicken wing, no doubt I’ll lose my mind.
Weird, this ref keeps missing calls
So, is he dumb or is he blind?
Oh no, I’ve hit this time of year. Can’t help but watch some plays.
Better grab my car keys quickly
Or else I’ll set this couch ablaze.
He doesn’t even notice as I race through our front door.
Tires squealing, engine roaring
While I make haste to the store.
You might scoff at decorations. Somehow on display so soon.
Who needs the spirit of the holidays?
It’s only 2 months after June.
I’ll tell you why I need them. All because of this damn game.
Without a festive, sweet diversion?
Oh, best believe I’d go insane.
The Dolphins and the Ravens. Then the Panthers and the Chiefs.
These games, they just keep coming…
Violence isn’t in my core beliefs.
I’m here as meditation. Staring at cute store displays.
Next a pit stop for some pumpkin spice,
Hot donuts with fresh glaze.
I wind my way back home to find my husband fast asleep.
Buried under empty wrappers
Stacked at least a dozen deep.
Remote in hand, last game still on, I start to turn it off.
Peace and quiet in my grasp now
Then I choke on my own cough.
Wait, crowd’s going wild, a minute left? The score is really tied?
I can’t help but grab a pork rind…
And smile a little bit inside.
