Poem By Francis Santaquilani
If there's no ball to toss,
We don't talk. We always
Toss it in the same spot,
Same time, in all weather,
Where the trees aren't, by the
Side of the house, not too far
From the road. We never back
Out. We're never late. We lob it
High when we have a lot to say,
Or throw it low and hard so
The words beat the roar
Of a passing car. If called in,
Or a crisis comes up, we pick up
The conversation next time with
Whoever had the ball last.
We never forget who's turn it is,
Who gets the next word in.
It's really something
To see the words trail the ball
Like a comets tail.