Bleacher Trash
-WHITE ONLY-
Tell a tale, Thaleia, of a boy, his mother, and an ancient.
A summer of baseball, insight, love, and laughter among people long since boarded the Punt of Fierce Brightness to cross Acheron.
-Seated fondly in the bleachers of the boy’s heart-
the evanescence
of a lifetimes importance
a bunted foul ball
The summer was hot and humid. The boy and his mother were reading the ancients epic poem. And accounting for concession sales for the Danville Leafs, a New York Giants baseball farm team. His mother managed the vendors and counter workers
he filled their containers with drinks, popcorn, and snacks to
sell cheering fans eager to taste the coolness of the game.
mother existing
in a memory sweetly
a soulful recall
“Need Dranks here,” Billy cried out, “more Nee-Highs this time the bleacher trash seem to be thirsty for them tonight.”
Billy and Jessie were mill-hands by day vendors by night selling cold drinks and snacks in the –white-only- bleachers, filled with working-class folks, mill hands, farmers and their families; living without a second thought, for the most part, a Jim Crow way of life collapsing under age and exhaustion.
the world struggles to
awaken from enthralment
a hanging curveball