By Taylor Kovach
I never watch sports teams,
But the Lions were in the playoffs, and I desperately begged San Francisco to lose.
I’m not fond of people in my rivered community,
But will talk a good game of their genuine hospitality when someone is truly in need.
I am a too often eater of pickiness,
But nothing beats a Baffo, Better Made, and a Rock & Rye at Bishop Park.
I don’t drive much,
But I know Fort Street like the back of my hand and when the cruise starts each summer.
Like anyone else, I am not fond of shopping,
But Kroger(s)’ cupcakes and Meijer(s)’ chocolate bunnies are to die for on holidays.
Endless complaints when I’m sitting here watching the weather change ten times in a day
To a polar vortex and back to the most humid of heats.
Anywhere else,
I describe to them how our deciduous leaves change color, the friendly deer off in the trees,
the robins at my window, and the welcome wagon of Marshall Mathers in the breeze.
Never imagining being anywhere that doesn’t have a special left turn, a 9-month construction
season, infamously cracked roads, and somewhat polluted everything.
Mojo, Shannon, and Spike will get me through every second of any drive.
Maybe the lions will win next time.
I’ll be there.
I’ll be here,
At my thumb’s base.
Every main event, holiday, and time it matters most
While complaining every day in-between.
A Flower Michigander born in the heart of the motor city.
My mitten.
Taylor Kovach is a poet who lives in Lincoln Park, Michigan. He holds a bachelor’s degree in
psychology, with highest honors, from Michigan State University. This fosters his dive deep into
familial and societal adversity in the hardworking rust belt. Ford Motor Company and
independent asphalt companies fill his generational veins. Concentrations in creative writing,
sociology, and social work assist to further this venture. Self-taught in the medium of the poetic
arts that spans more than a decade. The artist keeps his work far from close to the chest.
