Matthew Harris Poet Epic

The Superbowl Hoopla

as a GMO gluten 
   and monosodium allow
wing glutinate free 
   NON SPORTS fan, holy cow
a gentle fear shakes, rocks, 
   and trembles thru every dDhow

ting fiber of me one hundred 
   and forty five pounds (give or take a hun
dread ounces) finds me feeling 
   like a castaway 
   on an alien nation, none
share totally tubular, 

   where athletes revered 
   as holier than thou hook hen pun
which craft 
   this wordsmith doth shine, 
   and experiences the equivalent  run
tooth ha goal post, and envision 

   me octogenarian widower papa 
   paying attaboy with "way tug hoe son"
or a similar comment, 
   which unasked for unsolicited praise 
   would be worth a ton
as if this bone a fide wordsmith 
   would cherish as a sentiment hard won,

which figurative convenient truthful 
   ( Earth in the balance) tangent 
   arced geometric fender
   to express gratitude 
   (nevermind their gender),

who unwittingly boost and tearful lender
my morale doth render
akin to a  spender 
   for anonymous readers, 
   yet moost likely an appealing sender 
via flattering comments, 
   an emotional legal tender

this sensitive chap also makes apologies 
   (and steers clear) ass king for any alley byes 
unwittingly me to refrain ushering my demise
hence...THANK YOU 

   unknown gals and guys
this honest to dog statement 
   summoned deep within me...noel hies
NOR NON FAKE 
   saccharine steeped sincere lies.

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