Chasing Homeruns

Step out the door
of my quaint home
onto the barren streets
covered with snow

The sidewalk plays the tune
of my dog's collar
over and over
along with the pitter patter
of paws
nails that need trimming
scrape in synchronization
on the hard pavement

We arrive at the intersection of here
and there
like a train station platform
street lamps illuminating snow covered branches
headlights exposing the dirty truth at our feet

I temper the anticipation
with a stern yank of the leash

A snow blanketed golf course beyond
too much for the joyful pup to bear

With a metallic click
he is off
sprinting across the vast fairway
scooping up mouth fulls of snow
and greedily trouncing through
the forbidden purity

I follow behind him
like a gravitational force
occasionally whistling
reminding him that I'm there
as my boots leave deep tracks
among the perfectly pacified
gentle grasses
subdued and hidden
yet somehow perfectly visible

We cross soft rolling hills
designed to angle errant drives
back into the fairway
though now they seem to possess
an entirely different function

I stare out across the barren course
the snow ornamented trees
standing indomitably along
the course periphery
as my partner pounces at the imaginary

We come to the range
whose fence now resembles
a stout barrier
on account of the snow
which has filled in the gaps

I stand at the tee boxes
and he scampers around sniffing
perhaps for excrement
as I stare out at the fence
designed to prevent range balls
from striking those on the course
beyond

We move along and I contemplate
a detour through the adjacent cemetary
its unpaved boulevards and yellow lamps
inviting the weariness of the living
to compare against the headstoned truth
of the dead
though this night I decide against their company

A noise startles my senses
others out frolicking in the moonlight
so I call to him and he comes
grabbing the leash I see the pain
behind his brown eyes
and I consider my life
leashed to the will of someone else

With a metallic clang
the leash collides with the ground
and he is off
sprinting over the final fairway
until we reach our destination

I reach into my jacket
grabbing the joint concealed
in the secret pocket

I light up
letting the cold of the night
propel the hot smoke ever higher
and myself
into existential remission
as he explores the potency
of a nose full of ice

My final retreat

As we step through the centerfield fence
a quiet presence greets us
and he stops
and I halt
and we look at each other
until he is off again
and I follow with crestfallen intensity

The game is being played
the sun is warm and shining
reflecting off freckled bat varnish
and water from fountain

The air is sweet and fresh
eliminating sorrow and doubt
until only sport's pure essence exists
and the players
standing around the diamond
reveling in the sorcery of summer
are calling to one another
in a cacophony of baratoned syllables

And there we are
caught somewhere between here and there
sitting in the snow
but running calloused fingers
through supple grasses

Intensive rehabilitation

He is back on his leash
I am leading him through the cold of night
and we are on our way back to our quaint home


but I stop


I look back out at that field
the tracks we've left
coming in from the break
in the centerfield fence

How old must we be to see beyond that fence
to notice the beautifully mysterious landscape
just beyond our grasp
to walk out through the gap
and into what only our minds tell us is real

What excuse might bring about such inexplicable change
to prompt the contented to venture forth
to adventure beyond reality

When the fence no longer keeps your flyballs in the outfield
I tell myself
you will know the time has come
to poke your head out that gap
and see just how strong you are
just how much you have grown




Inspired by the book of poetry entitled "While Dreaming of Diamonds in Wintertime" by KG Newman