The Game of Your Life
Sept 21 2008


They retire the numbers
of sports stars.
Hang them up
from the rafters of hockey rinks
or out by the bleacher seats;
giant jerseys
the effigies of heroes.

The rest of us
will hang up our smocks
our suit coats and frocks,
accept
a gold watch and a handshake.
No one will recall
the emptied in-box and good team player,
the unused sick days
and on-time record.
Because there is no hall of fame
for office temps,
or manufacturers’ representatives.

And then you realize
that the sports hero you still idolize
was 20-something, back then
barely shaving,
40 years younger than you are.
Your own highlight
was even younger,
that goal you scored in overtime, a sophomore
in the game of your life.
Peaked early
you console yourself.

As they say
there’s no going home again.
The old arena
now apartment blocks . . .
the high school
shuttered and locked . . .
and who knows
where the trophies and banners have gone.

And all the home-coming queens
team captains and MVP’s,
long forgotten.