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Postscript to an Elegy
What I forgot to mention was the desultory Unremarkable tremor of the phone ringing Late in the day, to say you were stopping by, The door slung open on your breezy arrival, Muffled car horns jamming in the neighborhood, Our talk of nothing particular, nothing of note, The flare of laughter in a tilted wineglass. Or we would be watching a tavern softball game And you would come short-cutting by, your last hard mile Dissolving in chatter and beer on the sidelines. How did that Yankee third baseman put it, tossing His empty glove in the air, his old friend Sheared off halfway home in an air crash? "I thought I'd be talking to him for the rest of my life." Talk as I may of quickness and charm, easy laughter, The forms of love, the sudden glint off silverware At midnight will get in my eyes again, And when it goes the air will be redolent still With garlic, a high note from Armstrong, little shards That will not gather into anything, Those nearly invisible flecks of marble Stinging the bare soles of the curious Long after the statue is polished and crated away.