the kid (November 21, 1992)

another kid dreams
dreams as he walks
alone in the cold
dreams of a memory

dreams of a field of grass
frozen grass, frozen solid
like ice
at a park by the river
with trees with no leaves
looking on
cold and brave trees
watching, surviving

hurried people
heads bowed
not looking
huddled in their coats
hurrying along
the sidewalk
not speaking
not recognizing
alone
or in two
with child in hand
or hands in pockets
or gloved hands
clutching bags

he dreams of how he touches
the leather ball, the old
leather ball with its many
cracks in its black and white skin
cracks from the rain, from the cold
from the years that have passed

as the numb foot
in the cracked blue shoe
strikes the ball, strikes it
with force, with pain
with love and with anger

and the ball glides
through the chilly midair
spinning and gliding
the snow spinning off
spinning off into the air

and the pain
turns into exhilaration
exhilaration into knowing
as the ball glides and spins
knowing and satisfaction
happiness
for that one moment
as the ball glides, spins
as it dances artistically
through an empty
circus

a dog, unleashed
stops, sniffs, is cold
watches

the ball makes it
just to the right
of the left post

the goalie
sweats bloodstained
at the knees
looks behind himself
as he gets up
from his dive

the people hurry on
huddled in their warm coats
huddled in their cold lives
heads bowed
not talking
not seeing
rushing
so they don't freeze
like ice

but
the trees
a dog
one friend
in goal
had been there
that one moment

a moment
glorious
even in its emptiness
in its loneliness
in its briefness
in its insignificance
to just about anyone
else

the kid dreams
remembers
the dark clouds
hung low in the grey sky
he remembers
it was great
it had been Christmas Day
and he had been
home