by James Wright
In the Shreve High football stadium,I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
Dreaming of heroes.
All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home.
Their women cluck like starved pullets,
Dying for love.
Therefore,
Their sons grow suicidally beautiful
At the beginning of October,
And gallop terribly against each other's bodies.
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About the poem: There's only three football games left this year, and one of them is the big Packers-Bears game this Sunday that has Wisconsinites (except me) all up in arms and nervous and getting overexcited. I thought, then, that I'd do a football-related poem, only there aren't any, really, except this one, which is sort of grim and bleak. Not the mood I was going for, but I was too lazy to go find another theme.
About the Hot Actress: My first choice was Alison Brie, because I watched Community last night, but she's only 27. So I went with Elisabeth Shue, because we watched Piranha last week, and in that movie, she tasered a fish. That's hot.
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