Sunshine

Last night, you blew a kiss,
Your arm was hoisted by the ref.
The catch of a lifetime,
like you were raised for the roses.

I awoke, expecting
the brush of horse hair on guts to sooth me.
Only silence from your tiny coffin.

You were slouched at the kitchen table,
taped hand, hugging the bottle.
Fat Lip, fate in one swollen red eye,
your love...

You weren't much
for books, no looker, not even a talker.
You were born to play.
So your mother and father made-believe.

Your uncle said it sounded ridiculous from a boy.

Onward, you marched your fingers,
Like Orpheus, you played so beautifully,
but the chance to look back closed you in.

You betrayed your grief
After your prophecy came to fruition.
Too soon, too little,
late for the rain to shower your wounds.

The pitter-patter of applause
rang through the roof,
and you smiled.

It was for the putrid glory,
for the roses,
and for your true love,
once and for all,
a knockout.