No Homo

When we won it made me feel.
As the Gatorade container of my eyes
was overturned on the coach of my heart
I rose with the stands,
arms encircling the jubilant meat
of my buddy's hulking frame
and on the screen: a wave of pats:
back pats, head pats, butt pats,
everyone patting tenderly, lovingly;
with a gentle violence acknowledging
the muscular buttocks
of our victorious warriors
so far away and yet
close at hand.
The phone rang.
I tried to answer, but there was a
game-winning touchdown
lodged in my throat.
John's voice broke over the phone,
"We fucked them, Eddy.
We fucked them in the ass."