what about the highlights

i stay up late to watch
the game.

my most frenetic friend
comes over
to watch it with me.
I've known him since 1985,
never too far out of touch.

if he was put into a barrel
of milk
it would turn into butter
in an hour,

that's how much he jumps
up and down
and stays in constant
movement.

silence is foreign to him.
but I love
him.

his jittery ways, his random
thoughts
his stories of being
a public defender,
each one more crazy than the last
one.

I give him the short version
of me,

but by midnight i'm exhausted.
the game is over.
we win.
I turn off the tv,

collect the dishes and begin
to head up when he says,

wait wait, we need to watch
the highlights.