Stafford and Miller
Played on the Kenworth playground
Growing up, mill hill houses without
The mill, tackle football without pads,
Boys carrying a sock full of marbles,
A hardscrabble treasure to be gambled
In finger-drawn circles, whose eye,
Whose thumb made strong from
Thumping water melons for grandpa.
Two boys, taller and stronger than
The rest, grown men at thirteen,
One lefty, one righty, unloading
On fenceless fields, who knew then
As the Great Depression waned,
They would win silver bats for
The highest minor league batting
Average in consecutive seasons?
Who knew anything really with
The war bearing down and the
Movie reels showing dead-eyed
Skeleton men in barbed cages.
Who knew I would one day
Hold both bats, trying to feel
Whatever power they might
Have left in them.
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