summer

the fields full
of young men
in hats and cleats,
the cut grass and
dragged infields
of soft tan dirt
under the wide
arc of lights.
and the parents
in the bleachers,
on the side hills
with dogs and
children, grand
parents watching
the movement of
youth, of sweet memory
so quickly gone.
summer is a cut
melon, juicy and
red. ripe with
promise. take a big
fat bite and let
it run and drip
down your chest
it will not last
forever, but for now
it is everything.