Someone congratulated me on crossing the finishing line

and I thought of death.

 

Years ago riding in a car wearing a bicycle helmut

after a head injury

I thought I had drove to work.

 

Now, I thought I was playing baseball,

that sport without a clock,

where the endings are unpredictable,

forgetting I am in race against time.

 

In baseball, time can be

stretched, extended, savored.

 

Time is fluid.

Leisure is possible

A poem can be written

when you run out and

I run in.

 

We are trying to stay alive,

you and me,

for as long as possible,

maybe extra innings.

 

Our next finishing line

is coming up fast