I Can No Longer Count On One Hand
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It is warm and a breeze is coming through the window and I am listening to The Basketball Diaries and it is Father's Day and I can no longer count on one hand how long it has been since I have spoken with him.
When I was young I kept striking out in baseball so he drilled a hole through a baseball and then ran a rope through the hole and tied a knot to keep the ball from falling off. He would swing the rope around and around and I would stand just outside of the arc with my bat and take swings at the ball as it passed by. Later that year I hit a home run and the ball landed on the hood of a car on the other side of the fence.
Out the window I can hear my neighbors air conditioner running non-stop even though they are gone for the week and someone else mows their yard on a diagonal to make it look nice and and it is Father's Day and I can no longer count on one hand how long it has been since I have spoken with him.
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