Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Summer Days
When we were boys, we played baseball
Boston baseball
Kelly Field under a noon sun, narrow eyes under young ball caps
Followers in dreams, the light of Fenway on far summer nights,
Yastrzemski as God, bat held so high
Congliaro's arm delivered us home
Boston baseball were the days of our youth
They are gone now as I grow weary
But new boys play under young ball caps, I am sure
Prayerful someday to a long summer dream

5 comments:

Rinkly Rimes said...

I love the way you write. You introduce me to a way of life I know nothing of and you make it familiar.

Old Ollie said...

We were the Expos vs the world.

Joey Polanski said...

Boston, in 2007,

Got to celebrate;

While I, who come from Cleveland, yearn

For 1948.

Anonymous said...

Good stuff SC. A memory thrown into a catcher's mit.

hp

Mary said...

I played baseball in the neighborhood streets as well. We had great fun. Boys and girls together. Your poem reminded me of the fun, and I can still remember the thrill when the ball connected with the bat!