By Mike Smolarek
Not a day goes by that I donít wonder,
wonder what would be different
if you were still here.
Would brother still drop out of college?
Would sister still move away
forgetting us all?
I wonder if you would have coached
my baseball team,
the fluorescent orange cap with the big B
covering the little hair you had.
You never had much hair, mom said.
The black and white photos of
you in your uniform
showed she spoke the truth.
I looked at those old pictures
in the dusty green photo album
in the drawn of the cabinet
with the shiny brass, handle
to look at you eyes when I could no longer
see you every day.
Were those really naps you took with me
every Sunday afternoon
on the carpet in the living room
after watching a football game?
I did not care then.
I would curl up next to you,
with my Curious George stuffed animal,
using your rising and falling stomach
as my pillow
and sleep the afternoon away.