WE BOUGHT HOCKEY STICKS IN 1974

at Riley’s Sporting Goods on Laurel Street,

sawed them off if they seemed too long.

South Jersey side streets, makeshift games

whacking a plastic ball at the one boy with

a mask, pads, and goalie stick. He’d block

them all and kids chanted like fans at the

Spectrum- Bernie! Bernie! Bernie! Bernie!

We pretended to be Broad Street Bullies-

Bobby Clarke, Bill Barber, Dave Schultz.

In school, we drew pictures of them with

clenched fists, black eyes, teeth missing,

orange sweaters with the famous flying P.

Saturday nights we’d put on Channel 29

in the back room, a fire always burned and

Pop smoked El Productos in his easy chair.

Kate Smith’s God Bless America, the voice

of Gene Hart delivered play by play of battles

with Blackhawks, Redwings, and Canadians.

At Christmas, we asked for black and orange

coats, hats, everyone wanted to be a big fan.

Before bed we’d drink milk in glasses with the

unforgettable saying- Lord Stanley Lives in Philly! 

MATCHES

Too early for pretzels, chips, or peanuts.

Too early for Brown Ale or a pint of Bass.

This morning begins like every other day,

with a pot of coffee, demanding pets fed.

Remotes find the obscure cable channels.

A five hour difference makes us get up to

watch games broadcasted from England.

I yell to him, he’d planned to get up too.

It’s football now instead of our old sport.

Its stats and standings replace baseball.

Its star players have replaced basketball.

Boxing Day replaces Christmas morning.

Magpies, Reds, Blues, Black Cats and Spurs

promise to outshine the lights of the tree.

Holidays have become too much work and

enjoying the season starts on this morning.

One day we’ll go there, is what we say.

Doesn't matter who we see, we’ll sit at the

edge of the pitch, we’ll have pies and tea

at half with shivering pink faced supporters.

We’ll wrap team scarves around our necks,

lose our voices from singing and when we go-

Rooney, Bale, and Gerrard will be long gone.

The money keeps us from reaching our goals.

SHUFFLE

He’s got a cheap iPod, it plays random songs,

they loaded it for him with his favorite music.

It’s ironic, You’ll Never Walk Alone is playing

as he begins to take his morning walk alone.

His kids are away, his wife- in a different world.

He’s trying to live a more healthy life now.

On early Wednesdays the park belongs to him.

There are no cyclists, dog walkers, or baby strollers.

When he notices how alone he really is, a bluebird

lands on a lamp post to sing his song and in the

distance, scrubby pines sway in the light breeze.

High above him, jets streak across a cloudless sky.

He imagines blood coursing through his veins,

into his four chambers, on to the arteries like the

lessons he taught to his students many years ago.

With the sun on his back and sweat on his cap band

he feels stronger when a Willie Nelson song begins-

Well hello there, my it’s been a long, long time

How am I doin’? Oh I guess that I’m doin’ fine.

IN THE EARLY MORNING HOURS

Sometimes I wake up and hear the birds singing.

I wonder if others know how early they begin.

After checking the clock, I try to go back to sleep.

I know my two alarms will go off soon and the dog

will start his whining, the sounds mean “time to eat”.

The cat will begin poking at me and walking on me.

A strange little creature that seems to understand

how to apply pressure in order to get me out of bed.

But before my feet hit the floor, I pause each day and

say -“What day is it today?” and “Where am I going?”

I stop by the window at the top of the stairs.

I part the blinds to see if it’s raining or if it is windy.

A strange routine for me and the two pets, I think as I go

to the bathroom, as I open the back door, as I make coffee.

I reach for the purple containers; I pour pet food into bowls.

My son is still in bed for a little while longer and when I

check on him, he looks the way he did when he was a baby.

It seems the days pass by quickly and I end up at this point

each morning, leaning against the wall, waiting for the coffee

to finish, for the last drop, thinking how I'm doing alright now.