The Boys of Summer

Sun soaked. Clay laved. Buoyed by the light

of a diamond’s indefatigable verve --

I hear the boys of summer echoing

through the encroaching dusk, late innings

of that never-ending game, what we imagined

would be our dispensation from the ineludible slue

of time’s sinewy betrayal.

 

Who ever thought of an age when

we’d ache so much the thought of another inning

would come in the answer of a prayer for rain?

 

Season after season, like robins returning,  

the scent of rosin sang of spring, drew us back

to the dusty dugouts of childhood dreams,

the immortality of swatting a ball further than any other,

a perfect pivot, six-four-three, double play

busted by the barrel roll of unbridled desperation.

 

Who ever thought of an age when

we’d ache so much the thought of another inning

would come in the answer of a prayer for rain?

 

Wrung up, run down, picked off, out of outs,

I sense the boys of summer slipping away,

into the gathering gloam of shadows,

the ghosts of old men resigned to the saltless pepper

of memories soft-tossed across a dreamless field.

 

Who ever thought they’d ache so much

the thought of another inning would find them

laying down praying amid the rain?

 

Clay soaked. Sun laved. Buoyed by the light

of a diamond’s indefatigable verve  

I wait. Uncertain how long

until I’ll hear the boys of summer again

echoing through the encroaching shadows

calling me to the resumption of our never-ending game.  

Ken e Bujold

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This was fantastic and swimming in atmosphere. Had me at Dodgers Stadium for a minute but I think the extended metaphor is a bit like the usage in Don Henley's expression of passing time...the summers slipping away. It was a great read. I enjoyed. F.

[Neville]

Now why did I immediately think of cricket and the summer sounds of bees a buzzin and the unmistakable thud of leather against willow .. that's the magic of poetry tho' aint it squire .. and muchly enjoyed ..

Neville

[Betty Hermelee]

reality turns to shadows when we age out... but oh those summers when we couldn't wait to get on that field and play ball...sometimes until way after dusk... tired and sweaty... we couldn't wait to get back on that field the very next day and repeat...and the as we aged, we would beg for rain to wash out the game because we were exhausted.... now as old folks we look back with pleasure of those fond memories, now shadows, when we were the "Boys of summer".... well written Ken, and fun to read
Warmly, B