“I feel like the third Manning brother” he said
and we were sitting like we always sat on that
old couch in the
old house with the
old dreams in our heads and
old beer in our bellies.

Nothing else, just staring at the television
Saying he felt like the Third Manning Brother
and we watched the guys in blue score another touchdown
and he didn’t look at me
and I sat there with the warm beer between my legs
and pretended I didn’t hear him.

One Sunday not long after that
I came down the stairs of the
same old house with the
same old dreams and the
same old couch and the
same old boyfriend wasn’t there anymore.

Those Giants were on and they were dressed
In blue and I kept thinking about
the Third Manning Brother,
the one not named Eli or Peyton,
the one who wasn’t a superstar
the one who wasn’t anything at all.