In the postage stamp
backyard in
the old neighborhood
before it was abbreviated
to hood,
I stood
at a make-believe home plate
and Bobby, my best friend
and next door neighbor,
took the first swing.
It was his yard.
Unfortunately,
he was standing
and
brandishing
a bat
right in front of me thinking he
was at home plate or maybe
he decided where home plate
was (Remember, it was his
yard.)
and
clubbed me
upside the head as
he completed his
swing —
collateral damage
for standing in the wrong
place
at the wrong plate
in his backyard.
I saw stars,
a welt formed
just above my left eye;
thank
God for an inch
of elevation.
The welt went away and
right now I think
I can still feel a tiny bump.
I don’t think he ever said,
“Sorry,” and probably
wouldn’t remember it
after sixty years
or even sixty days.
Bobby was that kind
of kid, besides, it
all took place in
his postage stamp
backyard in the old
neighborhood
before it became the hood.
Come to think of it,
I don’t even know if
Bobby is alive.
I’ll Google him.
I just did and if
this is he,
my Bobby,
this is his
specialty:
law practice
focusing on
property
liability,
real property
and
intellectual property
litigation.
It really was his
back yard
and still is.