Saturday, June 28, 2014

Beisbol and dust.

Sometimes we get the call
fate hands our task to us
and we go and do it


that there is Joan Miro, dog barkin at the moon he is
and so credit is given and well deserved
climbing Jacob's ladder up and down
we go
we exist here and now
barking at the moon
yep
fun too
I had to go steer the elder father figure on to the house
he's in there sleeping in my bed
whilst i play at words and make things dance 
because I am still not ready for sleep
it is my turn now
to burn the midnight oil
to be the one awake 
in these late watches
It is mine to find the tickets
to make the way before us
get the hats, buy the beer and find food 
he can glad hand the kind officers watching the crowd
and whip their ass with nonsensical stories of fifty years ago
I still think it is a good thing for the FoFo to embrace the social network
same as the scientist 
you mfers better get a clue
the politicians that mark your wages and declare laws before us
had damn well be aware of us
and if you choose to ignore them
that is on you
It was nice that my team won tonight
but they are hamstrung and wounded
this is a season of trying to sort through the debris
to find what can be kept and saved for next year
my time with my dad might be short
and the hours I have with the pre-teen daughter 
fly before me
seize them all
never again willingly 
dear god deliver me from ever ever
walking away 
when I have it in my power to stay
time is fleeting
and the wheel doesn't roll back around again
very often
there is the now
use it
seize it 
it is what we have

2 comments:

Sal said...

Julian Barnes...“I know this much: that there is objective time, but also subjective time, the kind you wear on the inside of your wrist, next to where the pulse lies. And this personal time, which is the true time, is measured in your relationship to memory.”

Sal said...

“I know this much: that there is objective time, but also subjective time, the kind you wear on the inside of your wrist, next to where the pulse lies. And this personal time, which is the true time, is measured in your relationship to memory.” Julian Barnes