For Kyle
From August to December
Or January when we’re luckySunshine and sound breezeFold into the fickle autumnThat vacillates betweenDays of Indian Summer andOthers of unrelenting rainEventually giving way to Dark, too short days of bitterWhipping windWith more rain from near any directionOr an occasional snowfall,Which is almost a welcome relief
Long drives with predictable radio chatterWe’ll talk a bit; kids and workBut mostly players and the gameWhat might happenWhat is hoped for And what is fearedWe park and walk and talk some moreTend to our pregame ritualsEventually arriving at our seatsTo once again greet our neighbors, Our friends; Jordan, George, Sam and others, We know more by face than name
The pregame frenzyUsually finds me wiping tears Being together, game after gameYear after yearThe hope of what might happen And the acceptance of what doesShared moments and memoriesThe game beginsWe ride the waves The schizophrenic dance ofWinner’s celebrations and losers mutteringsThen its over and we make the walk to the carAnd talk about next time