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BLUE JEAN BOY

all those words
in your head-
why were they
never said?
you weren’t sure,
is that why-
were you just
far too shy?

now she’ll never
get to know
of the love
you didn’t show:
of the thoughts
kept inside,
feelings you
tried to hide-

yet, you lived
for those nights
when you’d be
by her side-
there was no
greater joy
than those nights
that she called you
her blue jean boy…

Through the darkest blue of midnight
I see the winter of life's song,

I hear the sweetness of a melody
in a time that is all wrong;

I can hear off in the distance
a knowing tune that whistles, free
and, I can hear a song that's wrong, you must agree.

Notes are played, by memory
while not adhering to the score,

I hear a tune that waits for no one
for those who wait, on the dancing floor,

hard-ass bleachers

stranded in the bleachers
show is playing out

batter in batter’s box
pitcher winding up for the throw

get that ketchup off my hotdog
smother it with mustard
hold the onions, too

ball twists its way to the plate
batter swings and misses
umpire says, “Strike one!”

crowd is restless
I order another cold one
pitcher’s smug grin
reads catcher’s signal
and throws once more
umpire says, “Strike two!”

On this cold clear winter night
when three quarter moon holds sway
and casts on all a bluish light
almost as strong as break of day

Out in a terraced open field
uncovered patches now are seen
for the snow's begun to yield
uncovering the clover's green

Trees, unlike when they had leaf
as entities in the forest stand
by white they're given sharp relief
like marchers in a jumbled band