A soccer ball floats in the wide, broom reach, far
from either shore – faded red and white hexed scales
of a deflated fish, what air remains
leaking rubbery sadness. Motionless,
as if placed for the kick – but it's long over,
the match between mermen and stevedores –
pickup game between fast, elegant fins passing from below,
vs. burly shore workers on lunch break, heavy thighs
and power kicks from above,
the waves whipping furious,
wind dodging and driving forward,
only the sky to referee.
My ferry blows its whistle, but there is no clock to stop,
no crowd shocked by loss, a seagull picks at trash,
engines moan against the current.
A tire-pump PTSD here – the new ball I left in a park
practicing goals with my father before he died
when I was young,
him annoyed I don’t take care of my things.
Now one of us above, one of us below,
balled-up years drift on the tide.
For Shay’s Word Garden
qbit 
I followed the trajectory of ball and memory, so wonderfully written here – I especially love the thought of those fins and that maybe a couple of dolphins might have some fun with that ball. The memory of your father is so poignant at the end, “balled-up years drift on the tide.” Sigh.
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Thanks Sherry. Glad you liked it. Yeah, memory and loss, all you can really do is let it go if you can.
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I like the whole thing but that final stanza really raised it a couple of big levels. It contains the kind of personal detail that you usually don’t include, and it’s immediately familiar to almost anyone old enough to have lost a parent.
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Thanks. Yeah, I don’t really do personal details very well, so tend to avoid them. I don’t seem to be able to find the balance that someone like Hayden does in “Those Winter Sundays.” It always comes out cheesy. I thought this was passable. Appreciate it.
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I’m with fireblossom. This is really great, most especially those last 2 stanzas. I love how you’ve used the words.
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Thank you!!!
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I love how you set the atmosphere by way of setting from the beginning. Then those last two stanzas give us a close-up shot, and details like the ball wrung my heart, the imagery of grief stark, forlorn with unfinished moments, things left undone. Wonderfully written, Randall.
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Thank you!!
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This is beautiful Qbit. The loss felt is wonderfully expressed. Definitely worth the wait. I know you are a busy guy my friend!
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Thank you so much Carrie!
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