Comeback

close up photography of four baseballs on green lawn grasses

Comeback

I’m picturing one of them reclined in his chair,

and the other one sitting on the couch
One with his slippered feet up, and a beer
One with a glass of pop, and a comfortable slouch

Both men wear their casual pants and golf shirts,
and both have intentionally short, completely gray hair
There’s a Jays game on, in the top of the eighth,
and a bowl of peanuts, that both of them share

I can hear their commentary after a pivotal play
Sharp criticism of the base-runner’s choices
Knowledgeable experience that fills their words,
And a youthful exuberance that joins their voices

The subtle jabs of friends are parlayed back and forth
Each ready for a comeback, as the other one slyly talks
“What could an old curler possibly know about baseball”
“You must’ve taken too many blows whenever you’d box”

The spirited rant transitions naturally during a commercial,
away from the second baseman and his prolonged slump
It turns seamlessly back to differing opinions of Trudeau,
and a sarcastically disdain-filled consensus on Trump

You would never know that they were fairly new friends
with the familiarity and the intensity of all they discuss
You wouldn’t suspect that they had met in their eighties
That they’d only met in this last year, and because of us

Their furrowed brows ease back into a playful twinkle
as their jostling conversation becomes their laughter
With a one-run deficit, in the bottom of the eighth,
they’ll find plenty of time for their wisdom, after

I see your father, reaching for the last of the peanuts,
then he pauses, and passes them to my dad instead
I see them sit up straight, suddenly, together in unison,
as a loud two-run homer puts their Jays ahead


I think about them often, when I watch with you

Whatever the sport, and whatever the season
Life has a way of putting good people together
And we are good people, for an obvious reason

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Bittersweet

We shall…
“walk the caves of ice…

  taste anew the fruits of life… 
and drink the milk of Paradise”… (N. Peart)

for, perhaps, one last time.



IMG_20150528_180010[1]

We are…

Working men
of modest money.

We shall taste the dew
of the sweetest honey…


Our anticipation

is bittersweet.
With the realistic chance
it’s the last we’ll eat.

Just one more taste
the final course, complete.
Wondering if this
is our last,
delectable
satisfying treat.

We realize…

Entre nous, sadly
time won’t stand still.

Our circumstance
succumbs to free will.

The cerebral revelry.
That rhythmic mystic joy.
The analog kid

that lurks in every boy…


The enlightened faithful
feeling bittersweet.
T
he surreal possibility
it’s the last we’ll greet.

All of us together
hovering, above our seat.
Exulting in unison
for one, ultimate,
astounding feat.


We feel…

The spirit of radio
in this nation wide.
The holy triumvirate
is this nation’s pride.

A farewell to kings
they are our humble royalty.
For the last forty
they have our eternal loyalty…


Saying good-byeIMG_20150528_175906[1]
especially bittersweet.
The reluctant reality 

that it’s the last we’ll meet.

Live, our hearts alive
with wings on our feet.
Pulsating as one
to the closing, resounding
consummate beat.


We know…

For this one last victory
our signals will reconnect…
For this measure of three lives
our infinite respect.

 

 

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