Is your childhood glory so far away

Or so close

That you need to relive it, daily?

Maybe it never existed,

And now you’re someone else.

 

 

more of this poem here:

Rumbling Stumbling Bumbling Fumbling: An American's Jittery Journey Through Life

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Coach


Is your childhood glory so far away

Or so close

That you need to relive it, daily?

Maybe it never existed,

And now you’re someone else.

Maybe winning really is the only thing

For kids just looking for approval,

Especially the ones who got cut

Or never played because you’re not

Pals with the parents.

And it all had been fun:

Playing pickle in the park

With the Pickorneys;

Football in the street

With the Wagners and Gunnings,

Amber lights for the fourth quarter;

Basketball at Fred’s garage

Against Mark’s obnoxious height.

Of course we kept score

And it meant something,

But not enough to lose any

Sleep or friends over.

And in all the fun, I forgot to develop

That killer instinct to really go far—

All the way to the suburbs

With a kid who’s perfect,

A wife who’s not,

And a life that left me in high school.