My Man
This a phrase I hear a lot;
Who’s your man, who you got?
Mine’s the man who at games end;
When death has crept up to his cot;
In peace will dream his final dreams;
And these would be those fateful scenes;
A man, a boy, with ball and gloves;
Their eyes alive with a big-league gleam;
In a back yard lit with evening sun;
A mystical moment then on the dream runs;
My man is sitting on a bedroom floor;
Sipping imaginary tea with a girl about four;
She’s telling a story with dramatic flair;
Oh my! But it’s a tale of epic lore;
Dreams shift quickly, so it is with our story;
My man, a woman basking in morning’s glory;
Coffee aroma permeates the air;
They hold hands and he has to stare;
A dream will suddenly fade to black;
But mine’s the man who’d spend his last dime;
To drink imaginary tea, just one more time.
Copyright © Kenneth Cheney | Year Posted 2019
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