Happier Not Throwing

I am running across the dunes
falling down the sand, with the flow.

You are below, around, behind,
I don’t know,
mother, father…

…you are flowing across the sand
with me, away from me,
it’s all shifting so smoothly.

Once, when I was 8 or 9,
(Maybe 10)
You took me into the record books,
longest game in baseball history,
Red Sox, oh my Boston….
made it my first game with you.

And our last.
I don’t think you liked sport,
more comfortable
working wood,
teaching student,
lost in scifi….
just wanted to give your boy
what you thought was tradition,
for Boston.

And your beloved adopted city,
has new traditions, birthing,
bathed in blood.

I should have known you better,
and you, me.

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About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
This entry was posted in Creative Writing, Creativity, Poem, poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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