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William Heyen – Ⅲ






At least the hooligans’ fire in the stands

melted snow which diluted the blood

seeping from Seamus’s scalp where he lay

like a goalie who’d brained himself trying to save

a penalty kick that kissed the net

that shook slightly when his head struck the post.

At least the hooligans’ fire melted snow

which diluted beer that mixed with blood

that seeped into concrete & wood on that day

the living remember scar by scar, & the dead

in their clubhouse who were trampled & burned

now sing like the sacking of Troy that redeemed

their sacred honor, & likewise their team’s.