waiting on deck
september’s death
rests inside a fielder’s glove
her final breaths elongated
lilting and fading
elegantly purposeful
she would not be happy
knowing what follows next
her boys of summer in full costume
exhaling the uncertain air and
parading out past twilight
clumsily swatting bats
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
like
Thanks, Tom!