The Home Team
Brainwaves, restless energy, lighting up the stadium. Munching
pistachio nuts, hedging my bets on the home team. Cold skin,
transmitting neural code back to ground zero, to be filed under
January. The smallest planet in my galaxy, cold, dark and lifeless.
The quiet circle of eyes, dried out eyes. Pushed and pulled,
a circumference of asteroids, charged by the kinetic
energy of their own protons, neutrons, electrons. Randomly
pairing off and splitting up in slow, January winter night cold motion.
The music plays again, a familiar battle hymn. Like a stoked fire,
the asteroids perk up under orders from ground zero. Dancing,
shouting into space, an aching proxy for the human race. Degrading
sound waves and a return to the numbing stasis of cold faces.
The spectacle finally grinds to an end, the stadium lights power down,
the frozen galaxy deflates in another unpaid tribute to the home team.
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