American Legion Chili Challenge
On Groundhog Day the people of Potawatomi Rapids
come out of hibernation for the annual chili festival,
lured by spice and meat and tomato sauce
the way shit and honey draw flies.
Kiwanis, Elks, Eagles, Rotary Club
and First Responders prepare their secret recipes,
some mild and meaty, others fire-alarm hot,
chilis and peppers, tomatoes, onions
in different proportions, chili powder, paprika, cumin.
Donations paid, votes cast.
Faithful as Punxsutawney Phil himself,
Brock always attended, drank too much beer,
joked about his farts, then crossed off
the date on his wall calendar
the way his old man had done,
counting down the days to spring training,
when his beloved Tigers would take the field.
But Brock won’t be joining in this year.
Last month, a high school classmate,
no longer the team captain he once had been,
made the mistake of trying to shovel
his drive after a big snow.
Brock’s blasted heart reduced the class roster
by one yet again. Fewer and fewer of them all the time.
I was almost sorry I missed our fiftieth reunion
the year before, when the pandemic
began picking off the locals like Mickey Lolich
picking off runners trying to steal second.