Today’s poems, all linked to a meandering theme, are “Night Journey” by Theodore Roethke, “Bluebird” by Charles Bukowski, and “Unexpected Things” (unpublished) by Tony DeGenaro. In the episode I talk about Joe Camerlengo’s music, please check it out, especially Can’t Wait, which was my #5 album of 2024 (Joe’s lifetime EP is an early contender for 2025…). Here’s the text of “Unexpected Things” for your reading pleasure:
Unexpected Things
I find myself obsessing over unexpected things
especially of late
as the wind howls against the north-facing
bedroom wall of my son’s grandparents’ house
where we live.
[Last night, he fell asleep to the snowy opening sequence
Of The Empire Strikes Back, except, it was me falling asleep
and my son saying “scary” at the obsidian shimmer of
Darth Vader’s mask.
With haste I turn off the television, Catholicly inclined to
accept my son’s feet twitching in a dream to the shape of
pointed kicks as a kind of penance for frightening him.]
Today’s obsession is the unexpected
emotions unlocked in various hype videos
for the Detroit Lions’ first credible strike
at a Super Bowl in 67 years.
Another tidbit: as they are playing tonight, the Lions’ last
away game in a playoff, the year they won the championship,
was against the San Francisco 49ers.
It is simple: the team from a place I used to live
is playing the team from another place I used to live.
In a way, I barely escaped San Francisco and,
in another way, Detroit saved my life, which
in yet a third and even stranger way, means
Detroit made my son’s life possible
[not something you hear about Detroit enough].
If fate has anything to do with it, at least
absolve me of being a fair-weather fan:
[sons root for the teams of their fathers,
my father might have been a Cleveland
Browns guy, god knows my mother,
that slender skyscraper more suited for
basketball, was]
I was late to the huddle. My son was early
to the snap. But he was born in Royal Oak
on a day I imagine similar to the one in
Santa Clara, right now, on January 28th:
sunny, a little crisp, perfect for an arrival.
The wind dies down. As he fights
sleep, the lion inside his heart roars
mighty. As if anything could scare him
ever. I hope he sleeps until dawn
in spite of this awful wind. I hope
the Lions win the NFC Championship,
I hope they win the whole Super Bowl.
I hope my son is proud of where he
comes from – a city of champions –
and I hope he can see that city
to be me.
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