WAVELAND ESTEEMABLE
I've never taken a dog to school, never studied well.
All that I've learned, I've learned myself - the endings
were never worth the beginnings. We spin in place - all
zones as one : past, present, and future contained.
Everything as one, together, esteemed. 'If you can
catch my drift...', like the boy on the ballfield said.
-
It was 1959, and I think I was once already finished.
beginnings, and the new sun; endings, and the high,
black sky of night above. We practised our repetitious
plays : first base, over to third, and back. Throwing balls,
fast and straight like bullets, and then arguing who
would pitch tomorrow's morning game.
-
Small girls were all watching - though they weren't then
small to us at all. Same age as us, or our sisters - things
worth having, retrenchments of their mothers themselves,
we'd strive to suffer and play through for them. Maybe
they'd watch and maybe they'd see. Dad's car rolls by,
the empty road seems his alone. Those whitewalls,
and that chrome, by God, in the sunlight.
-
Whistling back at snake bit kids, the ones who
didn't play : that other group. Quieter ones, mama's boys,
the retards and the readers. I well knew them all.
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