Talking Poem by Francis Santaquilani

If there's no ball to toss,
We don't talk. We always

Toss it in the same spot,
Same time, in all weather,

Where the trees aren't, by the
Side of the house, not too far

From the road. We never back
Out. We're never late. We lob it

High when we have a lot to say,
Or throw it low and hard so

The words beat the roar
Of a passing car. If called in,

Or a crisis comes up, we pick up
The conversation next time with

Whoever had the ball last.
We never forget who's turn it is,

Who gets the next word in.
It's really something

To see the words trail the ball
Like a comets tail.