Forward Pass

It’s half past two on Friday’s waste renamed; This new one soon will be another slain; Evolving backward goes a victim blamed, Where I, as they, do I the same retain. Approaching three, the night of morning still, Still on the couch I shall continue on; A Texas winter spurs a muttered chill, But I am blanket bare and can’t respond. At half past three, today, the Texans play. We’re gonna ground the Jets (not football’s best). But if I watch the game on Saturday, God knows that Sunday wouldn’t let it rest. So what I’ll do to stay a forward glare, Is pass the game tomorrow through a mirror. 12/15