The Backstop

The red and rust

And crumbling

marking time

in the quiet warmth of the day

broken links of folded fabric

seal the wrinkled memories

Lined within his face

His cherished son

a leader of boys

Became a leader of men

In a faraway place

Borrowed but not given

Only a neatly folded flag in return

indifferent weeds

muffle memories of running feet

laughter and joy whisked upon the wind

long ago

the lost hope of "fair"

or the reassurance of "safe" 

the finality of "out"

the crack of the bat

sounding like a shot

to the old farmer

with his cold and snowy hair

on the weathered porch

his faded overalls with empty pockets

A life of growing life

Vigilance and stewardship

The keeper of the fields

The artisan of the livescape

The lonely climb up the stairs

To lay in wait

For the dream

That his most precious crop

Will return this season

His tired eyes squeeze

a rimming tear

a silent kiss

the prayer that moisture brings

that this long drought will end