Lament

for RPW


Gather together
and shutter the windows.
Pull the blinds
for good measure.
Incredulous
disbelief.
Down, now,
to your knees.
Head meets
floor. You know
what to do.
The long exhale.
One hand
to hold your head
and one hand
to pound the floor.
An unintelligible
and anguished utterance
of
your own making.
Bread and drink and blanket
left for you
at the door. They
know better
than to enter
speak
or touch.

Pass the night.
In the morning
chinks of dawn
graying
then yellowing
and warming
the barren room.

The five-year-old novice
sitting in my lap
number 36
last chance gone
(why did no one
for the love of god
call pass interference):

Mom
I'm wearing
their jersey
he'll do it
the next time

Innocence, wisdom
a simple truth.

A page
from my own team:

Hope
springs
eternal.