Super Droll Scroll

“Today’s the big day.”” Penn says, turning to his friends standing on line behind him. His words hang like mosaics in the freezing, post-dawn air. “Are you as excited as I am?”

“It’s go time, all right.” Chuck says, stamping his feet on the icy walk. “It’s going to be epic.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Randy says, winking for no clear reason Penn can fathom. “All of it, if you know what I’m saying. These things can be a lot of hype.”

“A lot of type.” Penn amends automatically. “I can’t wait to peek inside, and see what they’ve come up with.”

“Probably the usual, don’t you think?” Chuck says. “Screaming fans, huge build-up—”

“You did not just say that.” Penn wags a finger in Chuck’s face. “They’re using a very unusual artist this time out. There’s nothing SOP about Robiscoe.”

“More like T.O.P.” Randy says, guffawing. “There’s nothing T.O.P. about it.”

“That’s all you know, Penn.” Chuck retorts. “Bruno Mars is the musical guest this year.” he clears his throat quickly, and adds:

“The only reason I know is my chick likes him.”

“You can’t top topless.” Randy says, cupping air with down-gloved hands on either side of his face, chin wagging rapidly as he exhales enthusiastically through chipmunk-puffed cheeks.

“Brrrrrrr.” It still takes Penn a moment to realize his friend is air-motorboating, since the resultant expulsion verges in the ‘stalled engine to numbnuts’ range.

“It isn’t topless at all, Randy.” Penn says. “I saw a tasteful black and white cover.”

“Cover? You mean a roof?” Chuck says.

“It’s as minimalist as she is over the top.”

“She is so over that top!” Randy yells.

“That’s the whole thing, Penn.” Chuck says, pointing to the building still football fields away. The stadium is open-air.”

“It’ll be a great slam.” Penn says.

“A super game.” Chuck almost agrees.

“A topless showdown.” Randy says.

“And it’s really not that cold.”

“Keep your eyes on those poles, play-uh. The action ’round those poles will keep you warm.”

“Exactly.” Chuck says. “The end zone, too.”

“I never heard it called that before!” Randy says, high-fiving Chuck, who flings his Seahawk pennant into the milling crowd in enthusiastic if forgetful reciprocation.

“That’s because they’re poems—not poles.” Penn says. “A release titled Word Mosaics to be precise.”

“Sorry!” Chuck calls out. Tugging on Penn’s sleeve with his now completely unencumbered hand, he says: “You talking about the Bruno Mars fella? That: Ýou Look Amazing fella? Who cares what he’s singing.” he pauses. “What’s it called again?”

“Word Mosaics, and I’m not talking about Mars. I’m talking about Venus. About Robiscoe. She has an inner kind of fire.” Penn says, feeling a bit of the bard himself—and something else, too–as the press of the crowd carries him forward ragdoll style.

“Is Robiscoe a running back?” Chuck says.

“A dancer?” Randy wonders.

“An author.” Penn declares, thrusting a dramatic arm across the crowd to stop the wave. “In this instance, a poet whose chapbook titled: Word Mosaics is available for purchase this Super Bowl Sunday.”

“Sunday.” Chuck mutters. “Sunday.”

“Is there an echoplex out here?” Randy says. “That’s sick.”

“As I was saying: I think it’s highly appropriate Fowlpox Press has published this collection of poetry, given Robiscoe’s penchant for poultry –”

“Poultry? What kind of poultry?”

“Poetry! What kind of poetry?”

“Free verse and formalist, both, this collection of 50 plus poems is based on rhyming riddles & idioms, wordplays & phonetics, homonyms & word associations—something at which Robiscoe excels.”

“But what’s authoring have to do with the Super Bowl?” Chuck wants to know.

“And what do Word Mosaics have to do with a topless showdown?” Randy begs to learn.

“Nothing at all—except they both drop like it’s hot today.” Penn says. “For all that it’s hella cold.”
 
END VIGNETTE
 
 
Available exclusively through Fowlpox Press, please stop by to read, try & buy your own picture in picture, in picture, in picture, in picture, in picture, in picture…of my chapbook: Word Mosaics
 
 
Link, share, whatevs–these Chicken Little endeavors, that I might buy Chicken Feed…that I might stave off Chicken Pox & Chicken Out…

Fowlpox Press

 
 
 
 
Daily prompt: Write a post that includes dialogue between two people — other than you. (For more of a challenge, try three or more people.)

Photographers, artists, poets: show us a GROUP.