Vikings in March

We are the men of misshapen head,
tainted paints, and fugue.
We dare to call Cincy chincy
before we discover: bluegrass brewing.
We know neither who won nor who lost;
ask only: were there any upsets?
Is the Guinness keg kicked?
Rumor speaks of green beer and loose women.
But I’m afraid we’ll never get there,
‘cause we’ve eaten our passports,
having gone hungry
at sea.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s