You go to a family birthday.
Then, you leave and take words and memories,
Like the long-dead uncle.
He hated school, so Grandfather tied him into the wagon bed,
Whipped the horse and down the road they went to the one-room school.
He untied the uncle, carried him into the school and dropped him near the wood stove.
Uncle filled in as the right fielder to give a team nine players.
Three outs and the players ran to bat.
Uncle wasn’t with them.
He’d fallen asleep in the outfield’s soft grass, a hayfield more than a
Uncle passed out advice:
“Just because you f—– her, it doesn’t mean you have to marry her.”
Experienced he was.
The birthday party distanced ….
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, late October 2013