the boy who could throw

with one long heave
he could throw a ball
down the entire
street called Dorchester,
from pole to pole.
the ball would spin
and spiral
and drop sweetly into
the red haired boy's
arms as he
jitterbugged his way
across the chalked
goal line.
the sky was blue then,
laced with the licorice
wires of power lines
and telephones.
the cars were thick on
the curbs, narrowing
the path of play.
the summers were long,
the street full
of us, of the boy
who taught you how to throw
a ball,
a half century away
from his trailer
in florida where he
died alone.