Heaven to him
Meant autographed baseballs
Berra and Reese,

And Sport Magazines
He stacked neat in a corner
As high as Alcindor's knees.

Eyes filled with dreams
Exclusive to Youth

He flipped thru magazine pages
Cutting out Streamliners,
Post Script Cartoons
And clips from The San Jose News.

If I know my brother
And I know I do
He still has that scrapbook
He pasted these into,
Tucked snug in a box
With his old baseball glove
Oiled and ready
In case he's called up
To face Whitey Ford
In the top of the 9th
And douse Yankee Pride
With a homer to right.

Like Kaline and Tittle

The Fifties are history
But memories are fresh...
From when I was little
And Lee, My Big Brother
Who pedaled a route and
Admired his gridiron heroes,
Dreaming of glory
As all of us do
But sharing his earnings
From daily deliveries
With two younger siblings
My sister and me.

A new pair of Levis
Five nickel wax packs
Bike up to American Trust,
To squirrel some away
And keep some to pay
For a board game
He'd buy just for us.

Monopoly, Clue
Authors and Sorry
And some other games,
I've forgotten the names,
There was one that he made up himself,
Tracing all of the States
We learned all the shapes
of Wisconsin, Missouri and Maine.
And there was a time,
I believe I was nine
Our Mom was so proud
I recited out loud,
Cheyenne and Boston
St. Paul, Tallahassee
I'd learned all the Capital names.

And the board games we played
'Til the center folds frayed
We taped them together like new,
Still, the lure of the dice
On a gray rainy day
Diminished the older we grew.
New horizons in store
Different not better
Than playing the deductive detective,
In the Hall, with the Knife
Miss Scarlet, of course
And the three secrets cards prove you right.

Then a marathon game of Monopoly
A game I admit I played sloppily,
I preferred Star Reporter
And chasing the story
A game that presaged CNN.
Those days traded in
For the real games of life
Some I play better than others,
Whether I'm on a roll
Or the dice have gone cold
I can always count on
My Big Brother.

By Diana Mercedes Howell(writerworks@live.com)

Flowers Covered With Dew

Union Square

Life Keeps Changing

Ageless Seasons

Summer's End

Looking About

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