white smoke of Canaveral
curling towards visionary space
blindfolded, she went 20 to zero,
‘fore seeking our hides.
anticipation of Old Faithful
Yellowstone’s sulfur-up-your-nose.
Guy Lombardo New Year’s eve –
champagne glasses tilted high.
on your mark, get set, and Olympic sprinters
loosed
like starlings over the Vatican.
Bottles of beer we took down
and passed around…
The Horses are at the Gate,
sweaty tickets in palms,
silken jockeys praying
bottoms-up.
the 2-minute warning,
time to grab your last snack
before the Oakland Raiders
give you another heart attack.
I love these many moments in the countdowns. Each stanza is its own poem, and together they create many emotions for us readers. Perhaps I know some better than others, but it doesn’t really matter. We have so many longings and traditions, so those last moments become quite important. I like the tension of the sprinters, the exuberance of New Year’s Eve, even the informal fun of a snack break during a game. Reading again and then writing this response, I realize I’m going to look for more such experiences in life.