Man... Look at these hands.
They could swing a fifth of rum
Like a sledge hammer, or
Rest in silent prayer.
Or hold a child.
Or break a nose.
A stare.
These hands could help
A boy become a man, or
Crack open one more can.
They could hold a cigarette , or
Carve a handle out of thin gray air.
They could write a poem, and
Try to make things square.
Updated: Sep 3, 2020
It seems like a million years
Since I picked out a good stone...
Lost a shoe in the mud,
looking for a flat craft that skip
To the far bank, and ripple
Water like rock fish at first light.
Good stones are hard to find in town -
Good for busting windows, breaking into shops
Cracking heads, or throwing at cops...
Good stones are hard to find,
And I found mine.
~John Patrick Starling
Pitching to a chalk-drawn red brick strike zone,
Nodding to the basement window squatting, and
Sending me signals from behind its black face guard
Check the runner leading off from the neighbor's pine
Breath the fresh cut grass, hiding my grip behind my thigh
Squint for the Sun, and whip my curveball, sidearm ~ screaming
Wild.
Off the catcher's mask and hose bib
Bad hop into the damp and darkened cellarway...
Fifth inning. I'm winning. Game over.
~John Patrick Starling