Double Play

Its midnight on the red-eye
At thirty thousand feet.
I’m off to see the playoffs’
In first class leather seats.

My father was a baseball fan,
That’s how I learned the game.
A common man of no renown,
He had no wealth or fame.

His lessons and his memory
Are with me here tonight.
It’s our last chance to win it all
And his first airplane flight.

He doesn’t have a ticket,
But he’s on board just the same.
And tomorrow when they yell, “play ball,”
He’ll sit with me at the game.

Category: Poetry, Real Men

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