melissaahowells
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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. Vote for this poem
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