Circa 1987

Father And Son

A boy, camouflaged,

Reading twice as fasst

As the sweaty kids

Oblivious to the past

Sees the subtle

Symbols that lightly shade

The page he turns

And which he so anticipates.

For a moment

The father fears he's queer

While showing a bat

He holds like a Roman spear.

The boy sets down the book

Carefully marked,

Takes his father's ball

Knowing he's now in the dark

Without the speech

Of the almost great men

He secretly devours

At the few moments when

The father pauses

For a beer (and more

That are certainly

Lined up inside the fridge door)

Forgetting that outside

His shortstop sneaks

Away to a shade tree

To take another peek

At the mosaic 

Creations of me

Who never quite learned

To come home when playing in.