My Superbowl Halftime - Feb. 10, 2026

we step out the front door

it’s eerie, like a piece of glass

slipped over a painted world

a still life

so quiet I hear the blood run

in my head, like you’d notice

a creek hidden around a bend

wind, birds, all sound crushed

my dogs look around too, noses

flair, heads swiveling, nothing

the stillness feels lonely,

almost apocalyptic, like,

where is everyone?

halftime’s almost over

although I can’t hear them

refill glasses and munching bowls

or use choice adverbs and adjectives

to chew on the first half of the game,

the neighbors should soon get loud

and I’ll step out of that world of

near perfect silence back into

everyone else’s noisy one,

wondering if my weird feelings in

that overpowering hush of peace,

is anything like being close to God