football tv

all the little men call for the little men.
tvs like stained glass. a sports bar 
full of little men. little men full of little men.
a window without any men. a man
yelling at me. this happens so often
that i am not sure which time i should
tell you about. most recently a man 
followed me & called me "it" over & over.
i searched desperately for a place to 
blend in. i am sometimes  
a little man in a jar of beads. 
i am sometimes a little man in a dress.
on the tv they tackle each other.
they kill each other. the crowd cheers. 
a stadium of mirrors. men are always
looking for themselves in each other's faces.
accusation in a mirror. they will
call us vain & then carry their tvs to bed
like wives. all the little men buzzing inside.
a hive or a cathedral or some kind of nest.
the football tv thrums all winter like a fireplace.
my father is a little man. his father was 
a little man. a then too am sadly also
at least kind of a little man. what if
we were all one gender? i guess that
wouldn't be any fun for the little men.
i always want to shout back 
when a man chases me or stalks me
or spits at me but i know that 
if i answer i'll be a little man too. i do not
want to be a little man. i want to be 
a little creature without a body. 
i do not want to fight myself & call it football.
put my brain in a helmet & run
at the sun. instead, i want to be
something else. it is exciting that i am not sure
what else i can be. the football tv will,
like any hole, shrink from lack of use. 
maybe one day be smooth & soft. 
the last little man digging at the earth
in search of himself. what if that is me?