2 Poems
    by Robert Bradshaw

Hitting Fungoes

 
 The runner sprints for home,
 the chalk flying. Thirty thousand people
 lean forward as if their horse
 were crossing the finish line.
 Cheers erupt like a chain
 of volcanoes going off.
 
 A fastball is shanked
 into the stands and a hundred hands
 fly up for it.
 It happens quickly, the way streamers fly up
 when the air conditioning unit
 goes on.
 Surely a hundred tombstones will read
 thirty, forty years from now:
 "He missed the foul ball."
 
 I'm at a local park
 playing baseball with my daughter.
 An air show is going on nearby.
 Paratroopers are drifting like thistle
 over my shoulder but my daughter,
 bent down, glove ready
 doesn't see them.
 Hey batter batter she's yelling.
 Now she's looking up
 into the sky.  But it isn't
 a parachute she sees.
 She sees a popup lifted by her father,
 an overweight man in his thirties.
 He stands at home plate,
 hoping that his love
 is never dropped.
 

 
 Australopithecus Africanus And The Hall Of Man

 I found you loitering in a dark corner
 of The Academy Of Sciences.
 Only you were encased in glass,
 as if vulnerable to infections.
 You were small
 and frail.
 I joked with you, as if you were a friend.
 You roamed savannas
 with that upstart Habilis
 but you took little notice
 of him then.
 More pressing matters were at hand.
 Perhaps forests had become
 legendary Edens
 compared to the savanna's
 tall grasses
 where like a baboon
 you would stand up
 peering for the rustle
 of a carnivore.
 Baring your teeth would probably
 not help.  But maybe waving your arms madly
 like a group of tourists
 hailing a cab
 would.
 
 We don't know
 if you offered toasts
 over a fresh carcass
 or if you spoke at all.
 But you must have known the value
 of living in groups,
 of sharing.
 Certainly you must have been
 good child bearers
 and cherished
 your young.
 
 You weren't like Habilis.
 He would stride off
 across a field
 with the upright look
 of a man in an expensive suit
 crossing a street in the Financial District.
 You found habitual walking
 tough.
 It's you my heart goes out to,
 not to those proudly
 lined up in the museum's Hall Of Man
 like recipients on Oscar night.
 

Robert Bradshaw is a programmer living in Redwood City, CA.  He is a huge fan of the Rolling Stones.  Recent work of his has appeared at Red River Review, flashquake, The Paumanok Review and Slow Trains.