always the one to chase after
a stray ball
so obviously
the carnage of a companion
long since passed
the wrinkles of his hands
fold over
nearly the entire grip
blue/brown/green/hazel penetrate his
own determination
from underneath
the rim of a baseball cap
(a team logo i can’t remember
because i’m unfamiliar with
sports in general)
in the way
of his once
powerful swing
an oversized 1970s olympic track jacket
droops and catches
the lake front gust like a kite
i wish i could tell if that was a smile on his face
his opponent
merely a memory
on the other side of the net
good morning untitled
October 29, 2020
what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as
