Ian Bollag-Miller

Prized Ignorance

Iím sorry, but you should have seen it coming.
The way it sat there, glistening, gleaming on that pedestal,
The brand new white leather, the crimson seams,
Your favorite specimen, the finest in sports memorabilia
Your jewel

Cursed to forever gaze upon it was my burden,
It was beckoning for me,
begging me
Unlike you.

A lonely child, waiting to be played with,
Silently soliciting.

That smudged scrawl of ink could have been a stain;
A mistake.
Not the mark of a legend, a champion.

Well, I hit my first homer
While, you were so enthralled,
With your collection, your prizes, your possessions

That I would never be a prize to you,
Never a student of the game, never a teammate, never a son.

Iím sorry, but only for your ignorance.


Copyright © 2002-2011 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2011 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.