Boys of Summer
Posted: 22 Feb 2020, 01:42
V2:
Boys of Summer
A ball leaped past my glove
like a hare through a hole in a hedge,
runners circling the bases.
Other fathers raced onto the field,
the game over,
chattering like infielders.
My father sulked in the car
behind tinted glass.
There were only errors in 1960,
the year I was given a bus ticket
and sent down to live with my aunt
in Shreveport, to save money
my mother said.
My father
didn't show up at the station
to say goodbye.
Even at ten I knew the price
of chances fumbled
away.
V1:
Boys of Summer
My father sat forward on his bleacher seat,
hand in chin, disappointed
as always.
A ball leaped past my glove
like a hare through a hole in a hedge,
runners circling the bases.
Other fathers raced onto the field,
the game over,
chattering like infielders.
My father sulked in the car
behind tinted glass.
There were only errors in 1960,
the year I was given a bus ticket
and sent down to live with my aunt
in Shreveport, to save money
my mother said.
My father
didn't show up at the station
to say goodbye. If I had been a phenom,
would I have been sent down?
Even at ten I knew the price
of chances fumbled
away.
Boys of Summer
A ball leaped past my glove
like a hare through a hole in a hedge,
runners circling the bases.
Other fathers raced onto the field,
the game over,
chattering like infielders.
My father sulked in the car
behind tinted glass.
There were only errors in 1960,
the year I was given a bus ticket
and sent down to live with my aunt
in Shreveport, to save money
my mother said.
My father
didn't show up at the station
to say goodbye.
Even at ten I knew the price
of chances fumbled
away.
V1:
Boys of Summer
My father sat forward on his bleacher seat,
hand in chin, disappointed
as always.
A ball leaped past my glove
like a hare through a hole in a hedge,
runners circling the bases.
Other fathers raced onto the field,
the game over,
chattering like infielders.
My father sulked in the car
behind tinted glass.
There were only errors in 1960,
the year I was given a bus ticket
and sent down to live with my aunt
in Shreveport, to save money
my mother said.
My father
didn't show up at the station
to say goodbye. If I had been a phenom,
would I have been sent down?
Even at ten I knew the price
of chances fumbled
away.