Ball

Here I am now; standing hat-tall

A man, with all a man’s fears

All those crouching gargoyles

Pissing freely into my

Beaver damned stream

Of consciousness

That’s why adults seemed so hard

At times, when as a child

All you wanted to do was play

Have them catch a ball

Which had been hanging impossibly

On the breeze these 30 years.

And the trick of your child’s laugh

Was never quite enough

To crack the surface into a real

Smile, because your innocence

Served always as a tough reminder

Of what was lost

and what will surely come your way

The ball, in mid-air frozen, never

Caught in happy hands but

Hanging impossibly on the breeze

For another 30 years

When foolish fond ideas

Might free it at last into the hands

Of a grandchild.