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Poems

“This Year’s May”

 

Why surprise at the white-

petaled branches nodding

me up the driveway,

scenting each breath

into the house where my son greets me

in Little League blue

and my wife waits grinning

in the open-windowed kitchen

savored with pot roast and roses?

What crust of middle age dulled me

to how good supper feels

with curtains flapping

and all of us talking

as if we just woke up from winter?

Tonight I can’t sit for TV news.

I need to be out on creaky bleachers

and cheer my boy as my wife

pours me decaf from a thermos.

This May I want nothing more

than the sun to stay longer

and light this game we love.

So let the others stare

when my wife and I hold hands

like puppy love teens,

tonight I don’t care.

I just want my jeans against hers

as we watch our precious son,

tiny in the outfield,

dash through twilight

as if no fence could stop him.

                         from Home Fire (Belle Meade Press, 1993)

 
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