I don’t have the typical poet pedigree, as I earned my degree in computer science back in 1989, graduating Summa Cum Laude one week before giving birth to my son. So I guess that makes me a geeky mom, in every sense of the word. I enjoy switching between the left and right halves of my brain. My love of poetry was re-ignited in 2006 when a dear friend gave me Ten Poems to Change Your Life, a compilation by Roger Housden. And well, it really did change my life! But I must confess, sometimes my biggest challenge in writing poetry is trying not to be so damn logical, to allow myself to color outside the ones and zeroes. (redshoepoet.com)
One Final Inning in St. Louis
Heads downs, we stare at our ticket stubs,
walk in circles, anxious
to find our seats in Busch Stadium.
Above the beer man hawking Budweiser,
amid the scent of salty baked pretzels
and homer dogs, I imagine Tom Hanks
repeating, There’s no crying in baseball.
Too late …
My tears erupt with a glimpse of the green,
the outfield manicured in its familiar
crisscross checkerboard pattern, a backdrop
for the grass-embossed Gateway Arch.
One might think I was there to watch
my son play in the World Series,
or I myself, a ten-year-old child
who just caught a fly-ball off McGuire.
I walk alongside my dad,
share a hotdog and a beer.
My hope is for more days, more years,
even though I know it to be …
well … unlikely.
For the first time, my dad splurges
on the good seats, cushy and comfortable,
just a few rows up between home plate and first base,
the ones you pay extra for,
the ones that tonight are
Four batters into the first inning,
Holliday hits a home-run.
We watch the pyrotechnic celebration.
I look at my dad. He’s smiling.
And in that moment,
squeezing his hand,
Any pain plaguing his cancer-riddled bones
I watch the embers float down
like flashing pinwheels in a purple sky.
And it is my heart
©2016 Shawn Aveningo