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Modern Baseball

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Modern Baseball

Alpha Kappa Fall of Troy T

Downstairs, halfway dead, suckin down coffee from a black old fountain. Is your home where you lay your head or where your fake swordfish is mounted? Eyes-cross, habitually I would leave the room prematurely with a tiny little pile of dark roast grounds where I once stood just enough there to keep me safe. Rained-out, wrapped right up in our metaphorical overpriced ponchos. Endless rides home, circling the block for the whisper of a word we didn't know how to use in a sentence. Saw you. Went home. Drank myself silly in the basement alone, and the spiders were showing off a sense of humor on the ceiling, spinning letters together. I read “ we keep you safe.' Lost art, lost boy watching a grown man drink a 211 at 11 a.m. Our old joy! But everything is changing even
faster than it was back then. You hold me. It feels like I am finally closing my eyes after a year and a half long day, and I am tired as hell. Listen close, do you know that you keep me safe?