Friday, February 3, 2012

My Super Bowl Poem

I have been surrounded by women for most of my life. I had four sisters and one brother. I have one son and five daughters. I also have one stepson and one step daughter, but I can't take any credit there.

I often wonder what life would have been like if the numbers were flipped around. But daughters are just fine with me and probably a lot easier on the furniture.

I don't often think about having so many children--they came along in a couple clusters and they are a great joy. But when the 85 Bears were blazing a winning trail in Chicago that had not been blazed since 1963, there was a lot of little kids around. It was not so easy to watch the Super Bowl.

Stopping by the TV On Super Bowl Sunday

Whose cry is this I think I know.
Her room is in the upstairs though;
She will not see me stopping here
To watch the Bears with can of beer.

My little girl must think it queer
To cry without a parent near
Between the crib and frozen pane
She shouts out like in pain.

Cathy gives my leg a shake
I tell her there is some mistake.
But at my feet she stops and stares
To say that Lizzie cries upstairs.

The Bears are tough, fast and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And a diaper to change before Liz sleeps,
And a diaper to change before Liz sleeps.

With apologies to Robert Frost. Copyright 2012 Sporting Chance Press.

Sporting Chance Press is the publisher of The 10 Commandments of Baseball: An Affectionate Look at Joe McCarthy's Principles for Baseball (and Life), Public Bonehead, Private Hero: The Real Legacy of Baseball's Fred Merkle, Sports and Faith: Stories of the Devoted and the Devout, and Maddie Takes the Ice.

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