There in the back of the closet
of the room that was once my room
and is now a museum to childhood
is a photo, slightly curled with age,
of ten scrawny kids in awkward poses,
baseball gloves stretched out as if
to catch a ball just out of view;
and there in left field am I, shielding
the sun with my glove, tracking
the fly ball, an ice cream truck playing
its melodies, metal bats ringing on
nearby fields, Dad in the stands
watching intently, the catch made,
inning over, running back to the
dugout proud and carefree...
Where, where have I gone?
But there in left field my son,
handsome in his crisp white pants,
his teal NP Gators jersey, waits,
a whole life ahead of him, oh,
I will frame this image, I will
keep it safe in its glass frame
so one day, looking for something
serious, he might chance upon
the boy who loved playing games.
