Barry Vitcov

The Waiting Room

what do we notice 

when entering an

empty waiting room

empty chairs lined in a 

straight-backed void

the faces of hope or despair

having already left

with diagnoses and prescriptions

entering hand-in-hand

both of us nervous

about to lay a future

on an examination table

never warm enough

remembering when parents

informed us of their end of days

with the solemnity of age

and the humor of their years

the chairs seem emptier

if emptiness could be less

when entering an

empty waiting room

 

Fastballs

Baseball brings out the best…

child in all of us

not because the game is always the best

but because it’s a sport meant for imagination

and afternoon daydreams

For me, it was always about fastballs

I could wallop a fastball

anything over the plate, above my knees

below by shoulders…gone

then I saw my first curveball

or should I say ducked under that curve

the second curve, the third curve

strike one, strike two, strike three

in my mind take a seat loser

watching my father in the stands

shaking his head and making a face

like he had just nibbled on stale

rancid Cracker Jacks

I’ve never forgotten that look

Yet, I still love baseball

never more when watching a mother

lobbing whiffle balls to her toddler son

who’s standing at home plate 

on the baseball field in the park 

on a crisp, sunny baseball playoff fall day

he stands barely two-foot tall

shorter than the plastic bat he swings

and misses, swings and misses,

swings and whack, contact

running imaginary bases gleefully

giggling while mom claps and roots

There will be curveballs in his future

and memories of mom cheering

he may duck three times

or maybe not

Abbey and I in Yachats

The sea moves like

grey shoulders shrugging

off the fog and gray

while Abbey the standard poodle

ponders the parade of non-standards

passing by thinking they’re okay.

I’m comfortable and tidy

in my black hoodie

with the mist glazing my face

as Abbey paces the deck

reminding me of my place,

just a human and not entitled

to a puppy’s grace.

The ocean maintains 

a languid pace

with muted colors 

and expanding space.