You came down, the stairs,
rumbling loudly, sounding like dad did
when we were both young
“Ok. I can’t watch this upstairs.
I have to see this on the big TV.”
There were eight minutes left
in the fourth quarter, and
it was a quarter after four a.m.

We sat on opposite ends of the couch
hooting and hollering, also like children,
when dad would take us to watch
Bryce Drew on bitter Indiana nights
“Get off the phone!” you yelled
in between deadly serious
chants of “Defense! De-fense!”
this game mattered, you see

I find it funny, because for years now
it has been through words that I
want to make my living; and I find
little difficulty talking to:
that strange woman on a plane,
taut and lean from Milwaukee,
or the man from Austin I met
at the bus terminal in savannah,
both of us wayward and
looking for a reassuring soul,
or even the young girl
to whom I deliver pizza, and
who smiles flirtatiously, tempting
like one last drink before heading for home

I have the words for these people,
whatever those words may be.
But for you, for my shared blood,
for the boy I built snow forts with,
and rode bikes through Arcadia with
in those lonely days after our world
seemed to collapse on itself,
I never know what to say, and
find myself stricken silent

But let me say this:
I am glad you wanted to watch
the gold medal game on the big TV