Saturday Night

Saturday night

potato chips

French onion dip

and a soda or two.

Quiet memories

shared time

the sound of a television

and boxing.

What an odd combination of seemingly unrelated fragments but within this collection are memories – feelings – days gone by to be replayed only in the mind. A link broken by an insurmountable separation, by death.

Boxing

lightweight, heavyweight

novice or veteran

conversation –

small talk

the winner is

who remembers

who really cares.

Here was time etched out each week by a busy mom to share with her son. Time to watch two professionals struggle each seeking to dominate the other while fans cheered or jeered. What did we know about boxing…nothing. We always picked our favorite, watched with care, scored the bout, and were shocked when the judges disagreed with the us.

Boxing

roundhouse, uppercut

left hook– right jab

in the corner

hands up, elbows in

saved by the bell.

So how was your week? What was new at school? How’s the world treating you? On we would talk just sharing time and space. The house, quiet as we built memories. This was our time. Did it really matter what we talked about – is it possible to recall those conversations?

Boxers became weary

intertwined

waiting for a break

running out of time

seeking to escape –

Break, step back

legs heavy

arms ache

vision blurred

the end is near

who will win

who really cares?

Years have past yet these memories float back. She fought her final battle. Shared her final thought. Now separated by death still linked by a few shared moments on a

Saturday night

potato chips

French onion dip

and a soda or two.

By Keith E Maynard