-just me-

Hanging half-way down the sewer

As I'm the one called upon to retrieve the ball,

Less that I was willing to summon such courage
Than it was that I'm the one

Small enough to fit through the narrow opening

And light enough to be pulled back to the street

As my friends held fast to my sneakered feet

And the leather-like belt of my stiff

Dungarees.

It was always about the ball.

Scooped-up in time, dried-off fast, we’re ready to go.

The Columbus Park gang had little interest

And less to say about such moments

As we lunched at White’s Restaurant
Just over the City line

At the bi-monthly gathering
Of the “Over The Hill Gang,”—
Feasting on platters of meatballs and spaghetti
Topped-off with sickeningly sweet

Desserts dressed-up like twenty-bucks-a-blowjob
Hookers.

The presiding officer, elected by ballot
For a one-year term, began each luncheon

At the lectern reciting the Pledge of Allegiance,
A saccharine prayer, then listing the names
Of the recently departed members.

No mention of baseball, Ox and Pitch, Buck-Buck,—

Nothing about the Parks, the activity of the streets,

The schoolyards, the tenements or the treacherous
Sewers each of them knew so well.

The Columbus Park gang sitting at the big,
Food-filled circular table spoke of vacations,
Of retirement golfing and what

The grandchildren were up to
That made everybody in the holiday-
Filled houses beam with pride.

And the strength of their hands
Is pulling me back from the sewers
And the drenched
Baseball is in my grasp
And I think to myself as I listen
To the echo of ourselves:—
"Goodbye." 

                                        Quequechan