John F. McCullagh

Silver Star - 4,462 Points (09/28/1954 / Flushing)

The Fork In The Road - Poem by John F. McCullagh

The room was dark at midday when Yogi breathed his last.
His brain, now starved for oxygen, went searching through his past.
Did he recall the shores of France back when he was nineteen?
Or think upon those rings he’d won with those great 50’s teams?
Dying, his mind searched frantically, jumping from place to place
Here was Larsen’s perfect game where he jumped and they embraced.
There was that heated argument when Robinson stole home.
Then the pain and anger when Steinbrenner sent him home.
Yet as these memories dissolved within his dying mind,
He finally found the peace he sought; his Carmen, good and kind.
He took her hand and they embraced on the shore of a moonlit sea.
Yogi’s gone. Now the future isn’t what it used to be.

Topic(s) of this poem: baseball

Poet's Notes about The Poem

Number 8, Yogi Berra, Number 8. rest in peace

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, September 23, 2015

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