Saturday, September 8, 2018

Super Bowl Sunday By Michael Dwayne Smith

The holiest day of the year.
I remember my Uncle Bill, the one time
he hosted the party. Spent the entire day
getting people to listen to his goddamn
Mel Torme records and learn to appreciate
a fine Islay scotch whisky. Last I saw him,
he was being dragged by three cops, shirtless,
bleeding, when he smiled at me and said,
You let a motherfucker slide,
he thinks he can steal home plate.

About Michael Dwayne Smith:

Michael Dwayne Smith is most recently author of the poetry collection Roadside Epiphanies (Cholla Needles Press), available at Nominated multiple times for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, his work haunts hundreds of literary houses--such as The Cortland Review, New World Writing, Star 82 Review, Blue Fifth Review, Gravel, Word Riot, San Pedro River Review, Chiron Review--and has been widely anthologized. He lives near a Mojave Desert ghost town with his family and rescued animals.

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