Love Poem On The Patio Of Lucky Lou’s During The Super Bowl
by Justin Carter
We didn’t start the day at that dive bar,
but it isn’t beginnings that matter, right?
We were at some craft beer place, on the patio,
& the energy felt off—like it wasn’t even
the Super Bowl, like the only thing
that mattered to those people were commercials,
so we left, found a spot at Lou’s,
where the bathroom toilet’s covered by a trash bag.
You wanted the Chiefs to win & I did too,
because that’s love—finding yourself rooting
for a team you never would have before.
It looked like they wouldn’t. The 49ers led by two scores
heading into the fourth quarter.
We took some shots & ate another plate
of the potluck food. There was some dessert
that I kept going back to. I don’t remember now
what it was. I don’t remember most
of that day. The Chiefs found a way to score 21
in the final quarter, a pair of Mahomes touchdowns
& a Damien Williams run to ice it.
You called your mother & screamed with joy.
We didn’t know, then, that it’d be the last time
we’d be at that bar, in that kind of crowd, just a month
before the world shut down,
that we’d watch the next Chiefs Super Bowl alone
in our living room in a different state.
But what matters is we watched that second one
together too. I remember what we ate that time—
I made queso, & some strawberry cocktail,
& I called them both by some
football-related puns. I won’t share
those names. Some things are only for us.
but it isn’t beginnings that matter, right?
We were at some craft beer place, on the patio,
& the energy felt off—like it wasn’t even
the Super Bowl, like the only thing
that mattered to those people were commercials,
so we left, found a spot at Lou’s,
where the bathroom toilet’s covered by a trash bag.
You wanted the Chiefs to win & I did too,
because that’s love—finding yourself rooting
for a team you never would have before.
It looked like they wouldn’t. The 49ers led by two scores
heading into the fourth quarter.
We took some shots & ate another plate
of the potluck food. There was some dessert
that I kept going back to. I don’t remember now
what it was. I don’t remember most
of that day. The Chiefs found a way to score 21
in the final quarter, a pair of Mahomes touchdowns
& a Damien Williams run to ice it.
You called your mother & screamed with joy.
We didn’t know, then, that it’d be the last time
we’d be at that bar, in that kind of crowd, just a month
before the world shut down,
that we’d watch the next Chiefs Super Bowl alone
in our living room in a different state.
But what matters is we watched that second one
together too. I remember what we ate that time—
I made queso, & some strawberry cocktail,
& I called them both by some
football-related puns. I won’t share
those names. Some things are only for us.
Justin Carter is the author of Brazos, forthcoming in 2024 from Belle Point Press. His poems have appeared in The Adroit Journal, Bat City Review, DIAGRAM, Sonora Review, and other spaces. He currently lives in Iowa and works as a sports writer and editor.