In a dim bar
the patrons clap
when the uniforms score.
The patrons cheer
when the uniforms succeed.
The patrons cry
when the uniforms fall apart.

When the uniforms fall apart
the patrons drive home,
in regular cars
to regular homes,
crawl into regular beds
where they are kept from deep sleep
by braying neighbor dogs.

Bright mornings then creep
into the patrons’ red eyes
and not a one waking
there claps for joy.