November 4

it's 8:07 and thirty nine degrees,
cheers drift down the hill through the double glazed windows
it's football Friday
I watched them trudge up the hill in their Buff sweatshirts,
carrying stadium seats to shield their bottoms from the cold
it will be a long night
here the dogs are asleep on the carpet downstairs,
my flute is waiting for me to finish this poem
so we can play again
it's a lovely quiet Friday night
for a football game up the hill,
so quiet here inside.