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Max on the max


me and my love
are riding the max
its near midnight
a sunkist-orange lunar eclipse is peering in
through open windows
a prescient wind is rifling through our hair

across the way
the Eastbounder passes slowly creaking
a man glides through our open window...

its Max

oh my God
Max on the max
long-dead Max
our friend
the poet the playwright
the lover of America's national past-time

hello he greets us
its me,
Max on the max

we gape open-mouthed
almost not believing our eyes

not so polite to look
so surprised
ask THE question
he says...

well, is there baseball in
heaven
dear Maximillian?

yes there is
and I watch my son
playing ball
every chance I can get
he says

we pause
caught in the tangle of the wind
caught in the tangle of his words
caught in the tangle of our memory
of so much baseball

the baseball of our youth
the penant races of our former town
and Max's final season

and now the endless one
up in heaven
with all the boys of summer


Copyright October 12 2015 2:11 pm PST
All Legal Copyrights Are Reserved By This Author/Writer
Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World and DREAMS
Legal Copyright to this site title as well

dearest Max...father, friend, baseball lover,
 teacher and all around
wise counselor...how you are missed and not replaceable.


This is the Eastbound Max Train going across the Steel Bridge.





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