my father was an umpire
in his words –
“a god between the foul lines”
his was an empirical stance-
not afforded to many in their day to day

i had not played a real baseball
game in fourteen years. my younger
brother was on the roster for a team
in the local beer league,
and since he couldn’t make it to the
next game,
and since I shared his last name,
would I be interested in filling
the roster spot? they were facing the prospect
of forfeit if I did not take the place of him
to field nine.

i agreed, expectations of success driving my
train of thought. Mark agreed to drive us to the game,
after all-I was doing him a favor by pretending
to be my younger brother, as he was himself.
It was a huge mistake.

as I warmed up in deep right field,
the team’s manager asked me as “Jeremy” which positions I could play.
“2nd Base, and both corner outfield positions” was my simple reply.
acquiescence to the most basic need of a any baseball team is paramount.
I began to long toss in the outfield to stretch out my arm-
in case I was to play there.
i then saw the umpire call our manager over
for a pre-game conference.

the umpire informed our manager that any player
entering the field who was not eligible to play
would result in a forfeit for that team.
my own father was taking the last chance of playing baseball from me
on a technicality. It was his adherence to the rules.

i was relegated to picking up
bats in the on deck circle
for nine innings, coming within feet of my father
without a mere nod

after the game, as I changed cleats to shoes,
he passed by the car I had arrived in
without a glance askew
it was the last time I saw him alive

each day of stasis
illustrates the depth of our
forced cataclysm

individuals
response articulates our
new reality

my forecast dictates
a renewal in July
and it’s influence

the reconstruction
is nearly complete. fortune
begat vacancy

user is private
what could you be hiding from?
a resignation?

our chance meeting was
determined by elements
beyond our control

a stake in the new
proposal, a strike against
cautious wherewithal

serendipitous
the vocal reality
enacts perfection

careful and vacant
the acceptance of the soon
future. a failure

the afterparty
revealed shortcomings we were
incapable of

some friends were on their way over to the house.
a communique revealed they were running late,
so I gave them my landline phone number
in case they needed to get in touch.
i have had the number for thirty years, a teen
being acquiesced to when I desired my own phone number
in the ninth grade. a pinnacle of individual identity.

the phone rang tonight, rare in this era of cell towers and
invisible connection.
it must be a robocall, or so I thought

“hello sir, we’d like to ask you about the fishing habits of the household.”

hello, hello, hello, hello, hello

“yes, sir. I’m really here.”

i decided to turn the tables, and asked her about her fishing habits.
i had never had a grand experience pulling a fish from it’s natural habitat.
my father’s best friend was an avid fisherman, and those trips down the river
or to the far cove always seemed to get in the way of perfecting the pivot
at second base, or interrupting the most recent plea for a drum set.
she was so surprised that I had begun to inquire about her background, that she
immediately responded with a concise description of her involvement.
“i like to fish from the shore, not so much from a boat. but I’m still like a
little girl when I have to put the bait on the hook, or pulling the hook out of the fish.”

“why do you have to define that moment within the supposed weakness of femininity?
i’m petrified of putting a worm on a hook, much less scaling a dead animal. why don’t you say
‘scared, like a little boy?’ “

“you’re right…..
but I still have to do this survey……”

i responded by saying “you have sixty seconds”

she gets the answers her superiors are looking for in forty seven seconds.
“thank you sir, that was the best call I have ever had.”

I hang up the phone and wait for the sound of tires grinding
the last of the winter’s sand in a slow stop
before the driver puts the vehicle into park.

i was here when your
mother passed away, that day-
continuity

it was difficult
to reveal that she was a
member of the cult

intention- our point
of prior completion- it’s
course has remained fixed

i swallowed a pair
of scissors, to prove you wrong
i hope I was right

transformation’s goal
is functional policy.
negotiation

GROUNDHOG CAPABILITY

a female groundhog
has been living under the antiquated
outhouse
behind our home for 14 years.
just before Father’s Day,
a new litter appears in the backyard-
harmlessly
gnawing on fescue
and other overgrowth in the meadow that borders
the woodland, at the edge of our property.

at the end of the day, which I
always look forward to – hops in hand
with water flowing into the beds –
one of the new litter suddenly scurries away from
the main garden in the center of the yard,
far from the safe borders where they can
feed on low hops shoots and jewel weed-
plentiful.

the gardens are a tribute to my step-father,
who eased the pressure of being responsible for a
group that welded nuclear submarines together
by growing plants from seed.
after my mother was widowed
from melanoma and that welding burn,
she eventually had to sell our home.
a season later I found the book that was his bible-
“A Garden for All Seasons”
published by Reader’s Digest, which I thought was appropriate,
as that was the only reading material in the waiting room
in the nursing home my mother worked at.
she had to drag us there before school
in the rapid aftermath of the divorce.

we have had successes
and failures
following
the copious and the conscientious
measures of our intention.
i read online that pouring
gasoline
into the groundhog hole would rid you of
the issue.
i was quite wary of the that option.