StarPoet Newsletter Vol. XIII, No. XXX

Let's enjoy The Kid while he is young,
Before his strong body ages and decays,
We remember the young Mays not the player
Who stumbled in Centerfield for the Mets.

Your legs go first then your reflexes,
Your bat speed begins to slow,
Your eyesight fades, you can't see a curveball,
The end is harsh and irreversible.

Baseball as a job is unforgiving,
Demanding a multiple of skills,
Decline is inevitable, time's judgment final,
Your replacement is waiting in Triple A.

I have never claimed any special status,
That would seem to place me in the minority,
I chose not to dishonor my ancestors,
Indian, White, Mediterranean and North African.

I am who I am, not who you make me,
I don't need your personal attention,
Sex, Age, Color or Disabled,
I don't want your special breaks.

I work for a living,
Mongrel bitch that I am,
And revulse at your government handouts
And liberal best intentions.

So get out of our way and let us be,
Free to compete without your blessing
For that special job you want to keep
For your select circle of friends.

And if we fail, we fail,
But it will be on our terms,
And if we succeed, the success is ours,
And not some Ivy League government handout.

"O Doctor,
    Do what you can for him,
         Do what you can."
My President, my Captain,
Lies bleeding in his bed,
A traitorous leaden bullet
Burrowed deep within his head;


His eyes grow still,
The light grows dim,
    Beat by beat,
        Pulse by pulse,
Life seeps away from him
And all any of us can do
    Is help him rest more easily
Until the moment he breathes his last
And slips the bonds of suffering.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (July 2012)

This morning, as Sharon stirred,
She asked me if Cedar had been out;
I paused a half second,
   Said "Yes, Go back to sleep,"
And lay there wide awake beside her
Trying to wall off Cedar's image
From my consciousness.

When I was 12,
I walked most every day to the State Fair,
The temperature each day near 100,
Two weeks in late August before the school year,
The last breath of summer freedom:
The midway with its carnies and bright lights,
Ferris wheels, cheap games, and stuffed animals,
Balloons and golden bears, live turtles and chameleons,
Trashy souvenirs and loud come-ons from the sideshows,
The wooden competition barns filled with prime cattle,
Fat sows and squealing pigs and the smell of the farm,
The rodeo's brahma bulls, wild broncs and brave clowns,
The County's Building filled with ripe bounty,
Fruits and vegetables, nuts, grains and fresh flowers
Drawn from the central valleys of California,
Snow cones and soft custard ice cream enough to fill you,
Hot biscuits and honey at the 4-H and Girl Scouts,
Each day an adventure, looking at the kids and the people,
Ending by tradition with a free show fireworks.

The state made me great,
My president tells me so,
My skills are immaterial,
My efforts and talents
Were not involved,
For without government,
The individual is nothing,
We're in this together
And I just don't count.
-- But wouldn't that make
The head of the government
Responsible for this recession?

My president, however, often tells me
Individuals do everything that's bad,
The government is always beneficent,
Bestowing grace and many subsidies;
The State, not its citizens,
Is the font of entrepreneurial success,
The postal service, then, discovered relativity,
The Via Appia, the foundation of liberal policies,
And the only time we are on our own
Is when we are dead and at our gravesites.

Before the NFL,
Before the NBA,
God said "There be Baseball"
And bought tickets for the game.

When Sharon Asked

When Sharon asked me to marry her,
I took six months or more to answer,
But on a warm August night I put my arms
Around her shoulders and answered "Yes,"
Appropos of nothing we had been discussing
Over the last few hours.

The answer just flashed on me and, as we
Stood there in the parking lot of my apartment,
I knew I loved her and could not imagine her
Not being the singular point in the universe
My life revolved and depended on.