We stand six feet apart in a line
for meat – for milk
Our friendship originated on a baseball field
Spring grass and the laughter of children
The smell of new leather gloves
and adobe colored clay, we raked
as a town
We shared ice cream leaning on cars,
which we had driven to the Dairy Bar
when we won or lost - no, it didn’t matter
It was early summer, a late spring, a low moon
and no field lights
I had lemonade and there were chips
and we cleaned up after excited children
who hopped and swung bats or got lost
in the dandelions of the outfield
The bleachers held grandparents and aunts
and uncles and dads and moms
and the eighth grade English teacher
We had late day sun in our eyes
as the ball was hit – a double
and swinging bats
and dropped balls everywhere
We stand in line six feet apart
with worrying gloved hands talking
through masks.
Your eyes are lined.
Mine without makeup must seem older.
In this new spring, the field is empty
and the stands linear and shadowed
the snack bar is closed
and any laughter is behind walls.
The adults watch TV warnings
that interrupt plans for a game of catch.
I have come to realize after seeing you
in this line that doesn’t move
that there will not always be lemons.
That sometimes there can be no lemonade.
Wanderings and Reflections