(for b, a stolen memory)

after nineteen years, it is still
a mystery
whether Grandpa
or the Atlanta Braves
kept better time
across those long, warm
nights, ushered in by a bowl
of strawberries cooling
in Grandma’s whipped cream

like clockwork
between the 3rd
and 6th innings, i would be
rooting for Dale
alone
to the steady
indiscriminate nodding
from Grandpa’s appetizing
snooze

the Braves would play – sometimes
slowly, sometimes picking up
the pace – until effortlessly,
Grandpa would raise his head
to welcome the sixth inning scrolling
in from the same Chevy
commercial, and nobody were ever
the wiser on who kept time better:
Grandpa or the Atlanta Braves
.
20071107:1123
y