BALL LIGHTNING
In the front door out the back
A ball of lightning through the barn
in the story dad would tell
I wonder now if the light was white
and if it made a sizzling sound
as some who’ve seen one have described
All happened in a blink I guess, and gone,
like this, and all the questions that I didn’t ask
DANTE’S 9TH INNING STRETCH
In life there are errors
errors and regrets
and then there is baseball
The ball off the end of the glove
the errant throw, any errant throw
The running into the other fielder
and the ball dropping between
The not being willing
to run into the other fielder
and the ball dropping between
The not tagging up at third
The easy dribbler down the first base line
and knees that won’t let you bend to pick
The ball that was called a strike
the strike that was called a ball
For Catholics there’s Purgatory
with constant replay of regret
For baseball fans
there’s late October to forever
EDMONTON – LATE SEPTEMBER
The leaves are dancing down the street
Leaves like the thousand children
that I never had with you
A skip, a dash, a lovely pirouette
then past, and gone
QUESTIONS FOR THE NEXT SÉANCE
Dearest Mother;
Sorry to disturb you
in your well deserved bliss,
but here’s a short list
of things that I forgot to ask
And, if it isn’t too much trouble
I’d like the answers as detailed as possible
It will be understandable
if you can’t conjure up a voice,
but one rap for yes, and two for no,
on a floating table won’t quite do
However, if you can look up Samuel Morse,
(who may well be bored and available),
he can give you a quick-study course
and I will dust off my old Boy Scout manual
I believe “talk to me” In Morse still becomes:
-/•-/•-•/-•- -/— –/•
So, now that we’ve got the hang of it;
– What was the best day of your life
– What was your worst
– Your greatest triumph
– Your greatest disappointment
– What you are happiest that you did
– Saddest that you didn’t
Why exactly did my uncle shoot my dog
Whatever happened to my baseball
card collection, with the rookie
Mickey Mantle
and what is heaven like
EAGLE-EYE AT EIGHTEEN
The Golden Eagle hangs
on a string of grace
a hundred yards
to the west
I raise the 32-20
Winchester
and squeeze off
a shot
Dead hit in the breast
the string breaks and it drops
Quick voice in my head
Damn fine shot
Slow voice from my heart
Damn fool
BREATHING IN WINTER
In Saskatchewan in winter
your breath is certainly plain to see
And while I don’t actually believe the story
that you can warm it in a frying pan
and hear all the words again
I can’t help thinking how nice it would be
if I could just inhale really, really hard
And get back that awful dumb thing
I said to you this morning
THE FIRST MOTHERS DAY AFTER THE LAST MOTHERS DAY
Slowly it dawns on Sunday morning
that you didn’t call nearly often enough
and didn’t send nearly enough cards
or thank her nearly enough
And even if
you put the cattle racks
on the big grain truck
and filled it with flowers
till it ran over all four sides
Even if you drove it to the cemetery
and dumped the whole damn load
on her single rose grave
it wouldn’t be anywhere near enough
WHAT WE OWE
For all those who harmed
my father and my father’s father
For all those my father
and my father’s father brought to harm
How do we now walk arm in arm
Shall we start by tallying
what we owe and where the payment ends
An apology for sure
A compensation maybe
Never a revenge
CHECKPOINT
The Marine Sergeant said
We put up our hands for them to stop
If they kept going we just lit them up
Our patrol killed thirty or forty civilians
in one forty eight hour period
Later I learned that a hand in the air like that
is just a sign for hello in Iraq
I never want to go back
FAIR BALL
So what
if my father
only came out once
to watch me play baseball
He was a busy man
I caught a hard line drive