Catch and Other Poems

Catch and Other Poems

by Richard Michael Levine

CATCH

One of us would say “Let’s play catch”
and we’d all grab our oil-treated gloves
and a hardball and go jouncing down
the bumpy hill in the big brown beat-up
Buick with loose suspension
to the town park on Long Island Sound.
The grass was new-mown in rectilinear patterns
or overgrown, feather-soft and dandelion-strewn.
We’d spread out and shout “Liner,”
“Drive me back,” “High fly,” “Grounder,”
“Send me wide,” and Dad would
comply unerringly.
Homer’s heroes had nothing
on the Dodgers we imagined being:
fleet-footed Amoros and strong-armed Furillo
or the Duke, prowling center so confidently
he’d make the toughest play seem a snap.
Not us. We’d make the easiest seem hard
to show off all our stuff,
leaping high to snag a fly
a little overhead or diving for a line drive
close by and rolling to a stop.
Even on cloudy days I’d cup my eyes
with both hands waiting for the ball to drop
out of a blinding sun in the nick of time,
then turn to fire home, where Dad would
wince in mock pain to show how much it burned
or pretend to be Campanella tagging out
the winning run sliding to the plate.
Or he’d clap his hands silently
in the distance. What bliss!
It’s funny, I don’t recall my father
giving me advice about girls and sex
or how to be a man or deal with loss.
All we did was toss a ball.
I don’t remember sharing dreams
or secrets with my brother.
Catch was how we talked to one another.