Last Sunday was the regular meeting of our writers and artists group, SPOWPA. Even on Superbowl Sunday. The meeting was early enough not to interfere with everyone's plans for the various parties going on.
One of our writers--a first-timer at the meeting, brought along a poem to read, one that she wrote for the 82 SuperBowl, and read it for the occasion. I liked it and wanted to share it with you. So here it is.
Football Returns
The leaves turn gold and brown,
fall is in the air
and the pigskin flies again!
The pro-football strike is over
back to the Sunday routine.
Fans loyal and devoted
watch from the stands or
the living room couch.
Glued to the television we sit,
and if a girl it seems unfit.
The Cowboys rush the Indians,
Washington Redskins that is.
And the Seahawks sack the Steelers.
We watch the tackles and the touchdowns with such intensity,
if we have bet money it could mean our shirts.
But best of all the teams and fans alike
wait for that special day,
when only two teams are left
the best of the NFL,
to play for the ultimate glory
on Superbowl Sunday.
Katherina Messinger
Fall 1982
The leaves turn gold and brown,
fall is in the air
and the pigskin flies again!
The pro-football strike is over
back to the Sunday routine.
Fans loyal and devoted
watch from the stands or
the living room couch.
Glued to the television we sit,
and if a girl it seems unfit.
The Cowboys rush the Indians,
Washington Redskins that is.
And the Seahawks sack the Steelers.
We watch the tackles and the touchdowns with such intensity,
if we have bet money it could mean our shirts.
But best of all the teams and fans alike
wait for that special day,
when only two teams are left
the best of the NFL,
to play for the ultimate glory
on Superbowl Sunday.
Katherina Messinger
Fall 1982
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